


Limited Potential

by JeliBelski



Series: Legacy (An Inheritance Collection) [2]
Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Coming of Age, F/M, First Crush, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inheritance Sequel, OTP Child, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Remember how I said this was a one-shot fluffy collection? haha me neither., Running Away, Teen Angst, other characters not mentioned in tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29400600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeliBelski/pseuds/JeliBelski
Summary: Everyone knew the Flamebringer's and Thunderbolt's daughter would someday resonate with a Blade. But no one thought it would go quite like this.
Relationships: Zeke von Genbu & Meleph | Mòrag Ladair, Zeke von Genbu/Meleph | Mòrag Ladair
Series: Legacy (An Inheritance Collection) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2147460
Comments: 65
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you're new here, this work is a continuance of my fic, Inheritance. This one won't make a ton of sense if you haven't read that work. The gist: Morag and Zeke married for political reasons, eventually fell in love, and Jewel is their oldest kid. 
> 
> Remember how I said this would be a collection of one-shots and fluffies? Well, that was short-lived. This one is a mini chapter fic--I couldn't resist the urge to explore what little baby Jewel would be like. Shout-out to P.T. Piranha Fan and a guest on Fanfiction.net for the concept here.

“Now is _not_ a good time, Brighid. I know I promised Elodie an interview this afternoon, but it will have to be rescheduled. Please extend my apologies and move her to the earliest opening in my agenda.”

Mòrag didn’t even bother to look up at her Blade as she spoke; there was far, far too much to do. Recent floods in Uraya had all but crippled their neighbor’s national economy, and they’d called on Mor Ardain for assistance with provisions and national security. In efforts to preserve the fresh amiable relationship with his former enemy, Emperor Niall had obliged.

—Which for the Special Inquisitor translated into an overload of unanticipated work. In the span of an hour, she managed to completely destroy Brighid’s daily agenda. But necessity demanded it. 

“Umm…”

The voice coming from the door of her office rang with nasally overtones, not the melodic mezzo tones she knew so well. 

Pandoria. But not the electric Blade as Mòrag had last seen her, with a parcel of Tantalese trade agreements under her arms and an “all-business” attitude that had become more commonplace lately. After all, with Eulogimenos in ailing health, the day Zeke would ascend his throne wasn’t looking too far off. Mòrag half dreaded and half welcomed the change; her own living situation would take a very complicated turn. And she still couldn’t decide whether she would choose to live in Mor Ardain to support Niall—and by extension, Jewel, the heir to Mor Ardain’s throne—or let her children “fly the nest” (excluding Addam, who would still be a child by legal standards) and go to Tantal with her husband. Regardless, the impending reality of that transition had greatly sobered Pandoria and her Driver. 

But judging by Pandoria’s current expression, that move did not occupy the primary space in her thoughts. Something else did. Something more concerning. Mòrag could see the worry building up in the Blade’s eyes, gleaming like live sparks behind her thick glasses. The lightbulb atop her head flickered once, twice. 

“My apologies, Pandy. What is it?”

The Blade swallowed hard. “Y-you should go to the infirmary right away. Zeke sent me to get you.” Her voice was eerily quiet.

Mòrag’s hand clenched involuntarily around the paperwork she held. For Pandoria to be so out of sorts…

“Why?” It was the only response she could manage. If something was amiss— _now,_ of all times—she might explode.

“I-it’s Jewel. She’s hurt. It’s bad.”

Of _course_ it was Jewel. It was always Jewel. Mòrag pushed back her gut reaction to be annoyed; her daughter constantly romped her way into all sorts of scrapes and mishaps. Her father did, too, but his resulted from his own bad luck. Jewel’s? Always her own doing—and usually from something she’d been told or advised not to do. Her antics had been particularly daring as of late, as if the girl intended to attempt every childish stunt she could before her sixteenth birthday the following fall. The Empire tolerated her mischievous nature as long as she remained a child by legal standards; those excuses would vanish the moment she came of age. 

But something about the look in Pandoria’s eyes told her this incident didn’t fit within the category of Jewel’s usual antics. 

“I-I’ll head straight there,” she replied. Her voice felt thick and heavy, as if she was trying to speak through a bad cough. “Where’s Addam? Do you know?”

Pandoria shook her head. “I’ll go look for him. Keep him out from underfoot until all this clears up.”

Mòrag didn’t even manage a thank-you before she burst out the door, leaving her office in a state of disarray. Notices regarding her absence to the staff could wait—especially since the leaden weight in the pit of her stomach kept growing the longer she tarried. Was this how Brighid felt _that_ night? No. No, she couldn’t think about that now. 

Before she quite knew how far she’d traveled (when had she started running?), she burst into the infirmary, startling all the room’s occupants. Zeke shot up from his chair and pulled her back into the hallway. His eye glimmered with worry and tears. For a moment, Mòrag thought she saw moisture seeping out from underneath his eyepatch, too. She pushed against his grasp, trying to force her way back into the room. Whatever he had to say didn’t matter. But his grip held firm. 

“Mòrag, maybe you should hang back a minute. Let the doctors work,” he urged. 

“I’m her mother. I have the right to be with her!” 

_It’s so bad that he doesn’t_ **_want_ ** _me to see her,_ she thought. Yes—that was it. He acted the way he always did, trying to protect her however he could. But as a soldier, she didn’t need protecting. If she could stomach the horrors of a battlefield, surely this carnage wouldn’t faze her. Or maybe…

She wrenched herself free from his grip and forced her way back in. His pleas to wait or let him explain first fell on deaf ears. 

For a horrifying moment, the scene didn’t register. All three doctors milled about the bed, bustling about in such a hurry that she only caught little glances of her silver-haired daughter. No, that couldn’t be right. Now Jewel’s hair looked...mostly vermillion, with tiny flecks of silver throughout. Like she’d laid with her head in a pool of blood. The same shade splotched across her skin and clothing, too. Worse, little crimson rivulets streamed from almost every opening in her head. Ears. Nose. Mouth. One of the physicians fed an IV into her arm, attaching it to a pouch of blood. A transfusion, Mòrag realized. Old memories came rushing back. _Architect, did she do what I did? Has she been hurting herself and I never noticed?_

As Special Inquisitor, she saw the most gruesome sights on a regular basis. But none of them had prepared her for this. The callous armor she used to shield herself from the emotional drain of that carnage—it shattered when her reeling brain latched onto the reality that this miserable form was _Jewel._ Not some random soldier; her daughter. Her protective instincts flared, blazed. But what good could she do? Jewel was far beyond what her rudimentary first aid skills could handle. And with all the healing Blades out assisting Urayan refugees, they were reduced to traditional medicine. Architect, if only Nia were here. 

Mòrag felt her legs shift forward to the bed, reaching out to entwine her hand in her daughter’s limp one. Somehow that would help. She needed to feel Jewel’s warmth. 

“My Lady, please stand back!” one doctor quipped in urgent tones. “Let us do our job.”

“Tell me she’s going to be okay. Please.”

“We’re doing our best, milady. Not out of the woods yet.” 

Mòrag willed her knees not to tremble until she felt Zeke come alongside her. His mere presence was a pillar, both emotionally and physically. Suddenly the room didn’t seem quite so dark. 

“Zeke, what happened?”

He shook his head. “Nobody saw her get hurt. But the guard who found her...he said this was clenched in her fist.”

Only then did Mòrag realize that Zeke had been clutching something in his left hand. At first, she assumed he clenched his fists in shock. But now, he slipped the object into her gloved hand. Breath hitched in the back of her throat when she locked eyes on it. A bitter irony, really: even as Jewel bled, the crystal remained flawless. Not a splatter of blood marred its surface. It shone blue, pale, and cold. Calculating. A rigid, unforgiving collection of data. 

A core crystal.

But that could only mean…

_There has to be some mistake. Not Jewel._

Mòrag’s next words came out in a pathetic whisper. “Sh-she tried to resonate. And this was the result.”

“Looks like it.”

“But that can’t...Jewel lacks po—”

 _Potential. Aptitude._ The words formed in her brain but refused to cross her lips. Saying it would make it too real. Zeke merely nodded. She sank back against his chest, her gaze never leaving the hustle around the bed. She barely noticed Zeke’s arms wrap around her—the only thing she noted was that he trembled, too. Shook like a leaf, really. 

No one needed to say it. Failed resonances could (and often did) go horribly wrong. For that reason alone, the military had always required strict procedures for Driver recruitments: medical personnel on hand, pre-screening initiatives (albeit limited ones), and if possible, blood reserves in the applicant’s blood type. It was an exclusive privilege for adults, too. And for a crown princess, resonance was supposed to be a rite of passage—an intimate ceremony for the royal family and its most trusted retainers. But even that small gathering would have been attended by the best healing Blades and the court physician. Then all of this would have been avoided. Jewel would be disappointed, but upright and in good health, not fighting for her life. 

_Damn you Architect, don’t you dare take her from me. Not like this. Isn’t robbing her of the only thing she’s ever wanted enough for you?_

As if in answer to her crude prayer to the long-since dead, the horrid silence thinned. The doctors fell into a calmer pace. Their hushed, frantic tones settled into a gentle, businesslike demeanor as the lead physician continued issuing orders. Jewel’s bleeding slowed to a slow trickle, then stopped. The tiniest trace of color returned to her cheeks. 

At last, the head doctor finally spoke. 

“She’s going to be all right. But she was incredibly lucky. If she’d gotten to me minutes later, I think she would have been far beyond our aid,” he explained. “The guard who brought her in probably saved her life.”

“Just how bad is it?” Zeke asked.

The doctor bit the inside of his lip. “Physically, she should make a full recovery. But failed resonance puts a tremendous train on the body. You’ll have a very tired young lady on your hands. I recommend several days’ rest. Mentally, however, well. You probably don’t need me to warn you that the princess will probably be quite upset. Talk with her, and monitor her outlook over the next several weeks.”

Mòrag understood exactly what he didn’t say: _she might be depressed. Perhaps have her talk to a therapist._ The thought made her gut twist. Who did this man think he was, judging their ability to help their daughter through disappointment before she’d even woken up? They didn’t need help, surely She nearly said as much but stopped herself. This physician had been brought on staff for this express purpose; he viewed health more holistically than the mere cells and tissues that comprised the body. He advocated mental wellness, too—an area in which many royals were lacking. Too many years of rulers burying their emotions in front of others tended to do that. Architect knew she could have used help like his during her own adolescence. 

Even now, it still ached to ask for help. 

“But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. She’s strong. She’ll pull through. But we’ll monitor her.”

For a while longer, the doctors finished tending to the princess. By the time they finished, she almost looked as if she merely slept: clean hair, fresh clothes, and not a single trace of blood on her unconscious form. Only the IV for fluids gave her away as a patient, not a napper. With the room finally emptied, Mòrag pulled a chair to the bedside and collapsed into it. She had no intention of moving until Jewel woke. Nothing else mattered. 

How odd it was—for years, she considered herself a strict adherer to the “put the good of the people before the good of the one” sentiment. Niall was, too. As Imperial leaders, necessity demanded it. But now, the good of her little family always came first. Perhaps it was selfish, to push away all the tasks included in the Urayan flood relief program. But how could she help it? Jewel needed her. And she needed Jewel to be okay, too. In a way, so did the Empire. As the country’s soon-to-be crown princess—

No. Not crown princess. Not anymore, Mòrag realized. Mor Ardain’s laws stated it quite clearly: only Drivers could ascend the throne. And no one ever got a second chance to resonate. 

“...Zeke, what are we supposed to do?” she asked at last. 

“What do you mean?”

Couldn’t he guess? Wasn’t he thinking these things through, too? She bit back her own annoyed, instinctive answer. It wouldn’t do to snap at him now. 

“Jewel’s been trying to sneak a core crystal since she was ten. Being a Driver is all she’s ever wanted. She was obsessed with the idea. And now she’ll never have that. She can’t be Empress, either. This...this changes everything for her.”

“It doesn’t make any sense. Our kid, of all people,” he murmured, not really answering the question. 

“Is this somehow _our_ fault? Did we fail her somehow?”

His exposed eye widened. “Why would you think that?”

“I-I don’t know. Maybe we’ve pushed her too hard? We expect a lot out of her. Everyone does. She was supposed to be Empress, but did that make it right to put so much responsibility on her? Maybe if we’d let her be a bit freer with her time and hobbies, she would have developed more as an individual and this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Mòrag, you’re overthinking this. If Jewel can’t be a Driver, then it’s not because of anything you or I have done. Or anything she’s done. Having or not having potential...it’s a pretty arbitrary thing. That doesn’t make it fair, but it’s the truth. We’ve always known that. No one’s to blame for this.”

“She’s going to be crushed.”

“Yeah. She’s not going to take it well.”

For someone who usually flaunted his own dramatism, Zeke was surprisingly reserved. Mòrag fought down her own frustration; she almost wanted him to react theatrically, to cause a physical demonstration of the indignance she herself felt. But this calm acceptance almost made it worse. 

“We’re her parents,” Mòrag whispered. “When there’s a problem in her life, we’re supposed to be able to help fix it. But this—there’s no fixing it.”

He folded his hands and brought his elbows to his thighs. His gaze seemed fixed on a knot in the wood flooring between his knees.

“Zeke, what are we supposed to do?”

He took a long time to answer. “What we’ve always done, I guess. Be there for her. Help her know that she’s not facing this alone. Love her unconditionally.”

Mòrag crossed her arms. “In the wake of all she’s lost today, that doesn’t feel like nearly enough.”

“We don’t have to have all the answers right away, do we? One step at a time. Let her wake up, and we’ll see how she reacts. We’ll take it from there.” 

“I suppose there’s little choice.”

The hours that followed brought along a small trickle of visitors. Brighid visited first to hear her namesake’s prognosis and assure her Driver that she would handle Mòrag’s duties in her absence. Emperor Niall came shortly afterwards, as did several of the princess’s tutors. Even Aegaeon dropped by. It was a well-known secret that the stoic water Blade had something of a soft spot for his Driver’s children; the young royals had a fairly sizable collection of little dolls and intricate handcrafted talismans thanks to him. Mòrag thought she saw the tiniest traces of tears on his face before he left. Finally, Pandoria brought little Addam by so he could see his sister. 

Addam was everything his sister wasn’t: reserved, thoughtful, calculating. Quiet. Good with his studies—although he and Jewel were both as smart as whips, Addam actually had the temperament necessary to apply himself in the classroom (Jewel often snuck out of her lessons halfway through). They often bickered, which typically resulted in Addam getting knocked down. Come to think of it, that morning they’d fought over who had custody of Turters for the day. But Addam’s expression when he saw his hurt sister showed that the morning’s argument had all but vanished from his memory. 

No one dared to tell him. He knew, anyway—with Jewel unable to resonate, the throne automatically passed to him next, provided he could resonate successfully. No such expectation had ever been set on him; even though Addam found the Driver-Blade dynamic interesting, his interest levels for it were dwarfed by his sister’s. And it was always the plan for him to eventually lead Tantal—decades from now, after his father retired—and Tantal had no Driver requirements for its monarchs. Now he would have to resonate, like it or not. And if he failed, too...Mòrag tried not to think about that. She hoped Addam didn’t think too hard on the subject, either. It was too heavy a burden for the boy.

Jewel finally awoke during Addam’s visit—after which Addam launched himself onto her bed to smother her in a tight hug. That drew a half-smile from the patient, but Mòrag could tell Jewel was just putting on a brave face. In fact, Jewel did everything in her power to direct conversation away from what happened, as if she wanted to pretend it hadn’t. But Mòrag saw their daughter flinch reflexively when she caught a glimpse of Zeke stashing the core crystal back in his pocket. But anytime the subject came up, Jewel insistently avoided it. 

And she continued to do so in the days that followed. She avoided everything and everyone, really. Only her lady-in-waiting—Miranda, a spunky redheaded young woman a few years older than herself—was allowed in or out of Jewel’s room. And even then, Miranda found herself kicked out as soon as she finished her tasks. 

_Niall did this, too,_ Mòrag thought. _Why do all my children lock themselves up and brood when they’re upset?_

“Apples and trees, Flames. They don’t fall far.” That’s what Zeke would say. And he wasn’t wrong. She tended to do the same thing: to hide her feelings and ruminate over them in private. Only she herself hid behind the walls of work and her office, not bedroom doors. Damn her own stubbornness—why did her own children only seem to inherit her worst qualities? 

It was a thought that nagged Mòrag endlessly until she forced her way into Jewel’s room uninvited. Not that Jewel put up much of a fight; she let her mother in after the fifth knock. But Mòrag would have knocked down the door to get in if she needed to. She buried her own sense of deja vu when she saw Jewel plop herself down on her bay window. Niall had brooded by his own window. But unlike the Emperor, Jewel started talking immediately.

“So what’s my punishment? Let’s get this stupid lecture over with,” she snapped.

“Jewel.” Mòrag’s voice was soft, not the tone she used so often when addressing the girl’s mischief. “I’m not here to lecture you, baby. You’ve been punished enough already.” 

In her daughter’s eyes, Mòrag saw her younger self—hurting, scared, disappointed, but pretending to be brave because she was equally terrified of looking vulnerable and weak. She saw a girl who needed to know that it was okay to cry. She could see the would-be tears swirling in her expression, like tiny drops of water threatening to slip through the cracks in a cistern. But Jewel’s stubborn anger won out. 

“I don’t want to talk. Especially not to you.”

Mòrag’s spine stiffened. “Then why did you let me in?”

The teenager rolled her eyes. “Because I know you damn wouldn’t leave me alone until I did.”

“I don’t think that’s it.”

There was a long, stiff silence. 

“Why me, Mum? What’s _wrong_ with me? Why am I not good enough?”

“Jewel, there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re more than good enough—Blade or not.”

“I’m not good enough for the Empire. I can’t be Empress. I’m just a washed up, good-for-nothing—damn it, everything I’ve ever wanted is _gone,_ Mom.”

Mòrag pulled her daughter into a hug, wishing her embrace could stop the girl’s trembles. “I know, baby. I know.”

“You don’t know a thing! You have a Blade. Dozens of them! You’ve never lost everything you ever wanted. Everything you ever thought you were supposed to be, all gone in one stupid second. You don’t know how that feels. And don’t pretend to. I don’t want false pity.”

Maybe it was time to tell Jewel the truth. She still didn’t know. But would it really help to throw a painful story at her when she was hurting so badly? 

“If I can’t be a Driver...if I can’t be Empress, then what am I supposed to do? Who am I, Mum?”

“You’re my daughter, Jewel. And I love you very much, no matter what.”

“So I’m nobody. I’m just a big disappointment.”

Jewel didn’t say it, but Morag could read what she was thinking: _I’m a nobody. I’ve failed the Empire. Maybe you’d be better off without me._

“Jewel, that’s not true! Your father and I are very proud of you.”

“What is there to be proud _of_?” Jewel demanded. “Look, I’m not an idiot, Mum. I know you like Addam better. He never gets into trouble. He always behaves. He’s smart, does exactly what a little prince is supposed to. He’ll probably be a great Driver. But me, I always screw things up. You’re always cleaning up my messes. I’m just a big screw-up.”

“That’s not true, and you know it. Jewel, you’re incredibly talented in your own right. You have all the makings of an incredible tactician. You’re creative. For years now, you’ve invented incredible schemes to get past our guards. You’re incredibly tenacious, too. You’re—”

“Save it! You don’t have to lie to make me feel better. Now get out. I’m done talking.”

“I’m not leaving, Jewel.”

“Fine. Then I am.”

And before Mòrag could stop her, Jewel stormed off.

* * *

“She needs help, Zeke. I-I don’t know how to help her. She won’t listen to a thing I say.”

 _They_ needed help. It hurt to admit it, but they did. Telling Jewel she was creative was not an understatement; in the last week, she had found incredibly elaborate ways to evade conversation with almost everyone—especially Blades and her own relatives. And whenever Mòrag or Zeke did manage to track her down, she pretended to listen for a few minutes before disappearing again. Apparently, the word of anyone who was a Driver was invalid. 

“Maybe...maybe we could have Tora talk to her,” Zeke suggested.

“And build her an artificial Blade?”

“Well, sure, eventually. Provided she wants one. But I was thinking more because he knows what it feels like to mess up resonance. He knows what she’s going through better than we do.”

In most circumstances, Mòrag would recoil at the thought of having the chubby _Nopon_ help with anything related to their daughter—she still shuddered at the one babysitting incident—but Zeke was right; he could relate to the crushed dream of being a Driver. No one wanted to be a Driver more than Tora. Architect, he’d created a supposedly unbuildable artificial life form because he wanted one so badly. 

“...All right. Let’s call Tora. It’s worth a shot, at least.”

But just as Zeke set his fingers to the ethercom to reach Tora’s house, Brighid entered the room with that all-too familiar concerned look on her face. Mòrag should have seen it coming. They all should have, really.

“It’s Jewel, isn’t it?” Zeke asked, realizing that Brighid did not have good news. In their sixteen years of marriage, he’d gotten equally good at reading Brighid’s facial expressions, too.

Brighid nodded. “She’s gone. She ran away.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly Jewel-centric chapter incoming! Time for a new original character, too.

“Damn it!” Zeke exclaimed. “How’d she get out? I thought Miranda was keeping an eye on her to make sure she didn’t do anything reckless.”

Brighid held out an envelope to her Driver, haphazardly sealed and, from the look of all the inkblots, hastily written. “Miranda was just admitted to infirmary. I don’t have all the details yet, but by the look of things, one of the other servants reported that she was late for work. One went looking for her and found her passed out in Jewel’s apartments. It seems she was drugged. They share tea every morning, do they not?”

Mòrag nodded. “It’s one of the few refined habits Jewel has.”

“I suspect the princess slipped something into Miranda’s tea to buy herself a head start. They also found this envelope.”

_ Damn it. Drugging a servant? What did she do, swipe herbs from the apothecary? She’s getting too smart for anyone’s good.  _

The envelope practically fell open in Mòrag’s hands. 

_ Mom & Dad, _

_ I know what you’re going to say. Running away is a foolish thing to do. And maybe you’re right. Either way, we can skip the lecture.  _

_ I just can’t stomach the sight of Mor Ardain right now. Not after I let everyone down. I need some time alone to think and figure out who I am. I guess I’m not much of a princess after all. I never made a good one, anyway. Looks like the Architect has destined me to be a nobody, so I might as well live like a nobody.  _

_ I don’t know when I’ll be back. Or if I’ll be back, actually. But I’ll be okay. Please don’t try to follow me. I think I have to figure this out on my own.  _

_ Give Addam a hug for me. Make sure he knows this isn’t his fault. I love you both.  _

_ —Jewel _

“Like hell I’m not following her,” Mòrag exclaimed, tossing the note to her husband. “Brighid. Meet me in Jewel’s room in ten minutes. We’re following her trail.”

“Of course.”

“Ten minutes to pack? Pandy’s gonna struggle with that,” Zeke commented.

“Somebody has to stay with Addam.”

“Niall and Aegaeon will be here, right? He’ll be in good hands.”

“The Emperor doesn’t have time to look after an eleven-year-old. One of us needs to stay here and take care of him. One of us needs to look for Jewel.”

“And you think it should be you? What if I want to help look for her?”

He wanted to  _ argue  _ about this now? What good did that do? They didn’t have time for such a thing. With every minute, Jewel was getting farther away. And without the servants to vouch for the last time they’d seen her, there was no telling how long of a head start she had.

“Brighid’s field skills are better suited to tracking,” she said simply. Firmly. 

That cut his argument short. “...Fine. I’ll help you pack.”

Not that there was much to pack; she and Brighid both kept a bag of essentials inside Mòrag’s office. Her position demanded that she travel on a moment’s notice frequently, after all. With a few field rations and coins stuffed into their packs, they were set to go. Zeke followed them into Jewel’s room. The moment they entered, Brighid fell silent. The ether rippled around her as she surveyed her surroundings. Her Keen Eye scrutinized every detail. 

“It’s faint, but there’s a trail. We’ll have to hurry if we want to follow it, though.”

“Then let’s be on our way.”

Zeke pulled her into a hug. “Send word as often as you can, okay? And be safe. Bring her home soon.”

“I will.” 

She kissed him quickly and fell in stride behind her Blade, hoping that they would not be gone long. But she feared otherwise.

* * *

“Did ya hear? The Special Inquisitor was spotted over in Garfont.”

Jewel’s neck hairs bristled at the mention of her mother. She directed her attention to the group of men sitting in the opposite corner of the inn’s common room. Gleaning information surreptitiously had gotten her out of more than a few scrapes in the last few weeks. And Urayan men spoke quite loudly, making her job easy.

“What? Why?”

“Dunno. The Ardainian royal family’s been pretty quiet lately. I figure she’s chasing after some criminal or something. Happens from time to time.”

“Think she’ll be headed here next? My kid thinks that Ardainian Blade is really cool. If I could see her in person, Tammy would think I’m the neatest dad ever.”

His companion scoffed. “What are ya gonna do, mate? Ask for an autograph? That’s a good way to have your eyebrows singed off. If she does come here, I’m gonna stay out of her way. None of my business.”

_ Damn. She’s already chased me out here? Time to split. _

It was a shame, really. She’d just grown to appreciate this little town a few titanpeds outside of Garfont Village. The people were kind; they didn’t pry. As far as they knew, she was merely a local mercenary. How that feeble excuse held up, she had no idea. But it didn’t matter. Maybe she could come up with a new, better cover story on her way to Fonsa Myma. 

The moment she climbed out of her window back at Hardhaigh, Jewel’s instincts told her to head to Gormott; she’d visited the area enough times to feel at ease with its geography. But Nia still lived there, and her parents had probably already sent word to the Gormotti to be on the lookout for her. Tantal was an obvious no-go, as were the tiny towns on the outskirts of Mor Ardain. That had left her with only three options: Indol (now a small, recuperating nation-state with no ties to Amalthus’s “doctrine”), Leftheria, or Uraya. Leftheria would have been her first choice if not for Uncle Rex. 

Architect, it was annoying that her parents had friends everywhere. 

That was why she opted for Uraya. Sure, the Garfont Mercenaries still had loose communications with Uncle Rex—and by extension, her family—but the marshy kingdom was the only place to grant her some sort of solace. Masking her identity had proven simple, too. With a few common clothes that she bought off some traveling merchants a week ago, a haphazard braid, and a sword on her hip, she passed off as a common mercenary. Very few people gave her a second look. But that didn’t lull her into complacency. Mor Ardain still probably had spies stationed around the world. Dodging them would be easy enough as long as she kept her head. After all, she had to endure Master Lionel’s boring lectures on Ardainian military assets abroad just a month ago. The methods their spies used to remain undercover hung fresh in her memory. As long as she watched for their tells—only perceptible to one who knew what to look for—she could avoid them. 

Her mother, however, was another matter. As a foreign dignitary, Urayans would be scrambling to help her. And with Brighid at her side, she could track down any ordinary human fairly easily.

Unless…

Jewel sprang into action. If her mom was in Garfont, then she had no more than a day’s lead left. Four days ago, the gap had been more than two days’ journey—not the wiggle room Jewel wanted to have. And so she retreated to the small room she’d rented the past two nights, packed her bag, and plopped a small pile of coins onto the innkeeper’s counter. Her wallet felt unusually thin, she noted. She would need to find a source of income before too long. Maybe in Fonsa Myma?

“Headed out already?” the innkeeper asked kindly. 

Jewel nodded, managing a small smile. The woman had been the closest thing to a friend she’d had in the last three weeks. “I’ve got another job over in Yurna. Client wants it taken care of right away.”

“What are you fighting this time, dearie?”

“Just some spike urchons. Apparently they’re close to a farmer’s patch. Shouldn’t be too difficult.” Jewel fought back a frown. Lying like this was getting all too easy, but as long as the merc story held, she intended to stick with it. “Speaking of which, could you do me a favor?”

“What is it?”

Jewel bit her lip. Hopefully this would work.

“I’m a...friend of the Inquisitor’s. She’s in Uraya, and she and I were supposed to meet up here, but I’ve got to go on ahead to Yurna Village. Could you please tell her I’ll be there instead? And tell her to wait for me for a couple days just in case the job takes longer than expected.”

“Ooh, the Lady Mòrag. Somebody’s got friends in high places, hasn’t she?”

“Y-yeah. She and my father are friends.”

“Ah. Certainly, dearie. I’ll tell her she can find you there. Take care now, you hear?”

Jewel nodded and set out at fast a pace as she could manage without looking suspicious. The plan was simple: she’d go a titanped towards Yurna Village—just enough to leave a believable trail for Brighid to pick up on. Then she would swap directions and make a beeline for Fonsa Myma. There was a slim chance that her mom would fall for it. Knowing her mother’s inborn skepticism, the Inquisitor might see right through the diversion. As a result, Jewel relied on the equal chance that Brighid would encourage her Driver to investigate the lead just in case. She could almost hear Brighid’s advice:  _ “We must be thorough. If it turns out that you’re wrong and she really is there, you’ll never forgive yourself.” _

As soon as she hit the open road after her faux-Yurna detour, she broke into a run. Over these weeks on the road, her fitness had improved dramatically. She always believed that the relentless training sessions with her parents and combat instructors left her with a warrior’s physique, but she quickly learned otherwise. The ache in her legs and her feet had proven she overestimated her abilities. 

_ You’re  _ **_always_ ** _ overestimating yourself. What if that’s why you failed? _

She pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the simple pleasure of rushing forward, of leaping nimbly over obstacles as she trotted along the route to Fonsa Myma. In these wee hours just after sunrise, not many travelers trekked the road with her. That was fine. After all, with Uraya’s population finally settling throughout its wilderness, Uraya’s stomach was not the monster-ridden expanse it used to be. And the stray urchon or upas along the path were learning to fear humans. Only the volff would ever attack travelers these days. But with her katana at her hip, Jewel felt confident she could manage just fine.

Even though the monster population had diminished, Uraya’s natural beauty had not. The same ethereal brilliance glowed in the land’s cobalt pools, its azure cliff faces, contrasted sharply by the crimson leaves and emerald foliage. Not even recent floods had marred the landscape too badly. As she trotted past Pelza’s Sluice, she recalled the stories she’d loved so much as a child. How her parents, Uncle Rex, Aunt Nia, and Uncle Tora had tackled the Azure Reginald at Coralline Sanctum. Their task to root out Igna infestation in the caves. The exploits of the Garfont Mercenaries. Treasure hunting and exploring ancient Nopon texts. And, of course, all of the cliffs Zeke had managed to fall off.

Her father had run away from home at fifteen, too. It wasn’t a story he liked to tell much. But if he could manage on his own at fifteen, then so could she. Never mind the fact that he had a Blade and she didn’t; at least she hadn’t inherited his bad luck. That made up for it, right? 

When she finally passed through Fonsa Myma’s gates with only one Volff run-in, she mentally patted herself on the back for a job well done. She could do this. That confidence, however, quickly vanished when she discovered that the inn prices in the city required more coins than her wallet had left. 

“Sorry, kid. All my cheap rooms are booked right now,” the innkeeper said simply. “With people displaced by the floods lately, I’m overrun. Can’t mark things down.”

“No, I understand. I-I’ll figure something out.”

The man studied the sword on her hip. “You a merc, kid?”

“You could say that. I’m good with a sword, at least.”

“There’s a band of mercs just outside the gates. Word is they’re looking for some more swords. Allain Mercenaries is the name, I think. If you’re short on cash and don’t mind a little messy work, you might consider it.”

“Thanks.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, Jewel decided. Why  _ not  _ turn her cover story into a real thing? Mercenary bands were pretty ambient groups. She could dodge her mother for a while, make some coin, put her sword skills to use, maybe have adventures of her own—it was worth a shot, at least.

Finding the group in question took no effort. She’d seen them on the way in; they occupied a small patch of ground just beyond the walls. A noisy lot, too. Seasoned mercenaries sat about a table, drinking and joking as they watched the would-be recruits get vetted in a small spar against who she assumed was the band’s lieutenant. Potential clients chatted about their contracts. Even some curious capitol residents milled about, watching the flurry of activity in the camp. But when she planted herself in front of the recruitment table, the mercenaries looked at her like she’d grown a second head. 

The recruiter cleared his throat, peering at her over the rim of his glasses. “Can I help you with something, kid?”

“I’m here for work,” she answered simply, straightening her back to look as tall and broad as she could. Even the smallest man in the group made her look as scrawny as a Flamii’s leg. 

“We’re looking for fighters, girl. Not pretty faces.”

“I can fight.”

“Sure, maybe you can fight well for a kid,” the man replied. “But we don’t hire people who need a babysitter to come along with them.”

“I’ve known the sword since I could walk. And I’m  _ not  _ a kid.”

“Whatever you say. Just take my advice and get lost,  _ kid _ .”

“No.”

“Don’t make me have somebody carry you out.”

“Just give me a damn chance!”

The recruiter opened his mouth to argue further, but before he could begin his retort, another voice boomed from the sparring area.

“Oi, Zed! What’s the holdup?”

“Sorry, Boss! Just trying to get this infant to go home to her mommy.”

Jewel turned her attention to the new speaker and was instantly reminded of all the stories Rex told about the hero Vandham. Like Vandham, this man was tall; what should have been an impossible layer of muscle lined every inch of his body. So many muscles bulged across his frame that he resembled a boulder with arms and legs. She didn’t doubt that one hit from him might send her flying. More impressive than his muscles, however, were his tattoos. They lined nearly every trace of exposed skin, creating a flesh-born tapestry of text and images. But a second glance told her that they weren’t ordinary ink marks, either. Each drawing along his skin had been etched there with a knife, leaving behind an artistic scar. 

She willed herself not to shudder as he approached the recruitment table. This had to be Allain, the group’s leader. Why did Urayan men always seem so big? And what sort of man would have people cut up his flesh for the sake of mere artistry and self-expression? 

“You wanna be a merc, sweetheart?”

“Yes.”

Allain laughed loudly, a sound that seemed to be a mix between a belch and a screeching moramora. “Good joke! Maybe we could use you to climb in the tiny rat’s nests, but a shrimp like you can’t keep up with our lifestyle.”

“You say that, but you haven’t seen me fight. Let me show you what I can do.”

His left eyebrow raised. “What the hell—why not? I’ve had several good workouts today. Holding back against you will be a good cooldown before supper!” Allain sauntered back to the little sparring arena, pulling the greatlance from his back. “Come on, greenhorn. Show me what you’ve got. Won’t take long to get that puny little sword out of your hands.”

She drew her katana, taking a deep breath. She hadn’t expected Allain to even give her a chance. But now that she had the opportunity, she would not waste it.

_ Mom’s approach or Dad’s?  _

Mom’s, just to be safe. Dad’s style might be more fun, but a massive opponent like Allain could easily topple her with one wrong move. The Flamebringer’s fighting style usually worked better for unknown opponents. And Mom was always lecturing her to be more careful during fights, anyway.

A single pass of weapons told her that a defensive tact was the right approach. The man’s lance rocketed towards her; it took every reflex she had to throw up her sword in defense and dodge. Her arms ached from the mere effort of blocking that strike. She’d have to limit direct contact as much as possible. But judging by the way Allain’s eyes widened as she countered with an offensive attack of her own, she’d already surpassed his expectations. She rolled backwards, buying herself time to study his movements as he approached again.

Her eyes trained on his lance as it shot upwards, hooked to the side, and then rushed back down. It was a maneuver she’d seen frequently. One only had to spar with Perun a few times to master the fundamentals of lance fighting. And Allain’s skills screamed fundamentals. The only noteworthy thing about his skill as a fighter was his overwhelming strength. If not for that, he was just an ordinary grunt. He clearly hadn’t fought against the best Alrest had to offer. She had. 

Not that she’d ever won a match against any of them. Mythra least of all. But fighting that many losing battles had taught her a lot about how to turn the tables. 

She studied his motions again— _ there.  _ Her opening presented itself. Right in the moment before he lunged forward with his lance, he twisted his core to gain enough momentum for the strike. That left her a wide opening to slice at his side. She held back, of course; what good would it do to badly wound her potential employer? It was a small cut, nothing more than a scratch. But it was enough to make Allain lower his lance.

“What the hell?”

Jewel cleaned off the tip of her sword before putting it away. “Just another tattoo for your collection,” she said. Architect, it had been too easy to win that. Apparently all that training had paid off—even without a Blade.

Allain put a hand to his side and flicked away some of the crimson moisture. A wry smile crossed his face. “You’re good kid, I’ll give you that. Too good for your age. I’ve not seen someone scratch me that fast. Ever. Except for one Ardainian woman, but nevermind  _ that _ .”

“So do I have a job?”

“Nope.” Allain shook his head. “You’re damn good, kid. But I can’t hire a merc who’s basically in diapers still. And I don’t keep women in my band. Unless, of course, you fancy being a barmaid.”

Her nose wrinkled instinctively at the thought. Unfortunately, her gut told her that Allain would not back down on his decision.

He waved her off. “If you’re really desperate for cash, talk to Garfont. They’re a bit more...open in their hiring practices. Bunch of soft touches, they are.”

“I’m afraid that’s not an option,” she said quietly. “But thanks anyway. I’ll just go find a tree to sleep under.”

It was either sleep underneath a tree or go crawling back home; after one more meal, her wallet would be all but empty. And she didn’t fancy going back to Mor Ardain just yet. Every time she thought about her homeland, that grapefruit-sized lump formed in her stomach. And if she went home, she’d have too much time to think about how badly she’d failed. About how she was a nobody. But life on the road was too busy for those thoughts—too focused on surviving and getting through another day. The monotony of going it alone distracted her. And it was a nice change of pace, too.

The only positive of Allain’s rejection? She could rest assured that her sword skills  _ could  _ make her a living—just not here. Stubbornness ran in her blood. She’d make use of it. 

She praised the Architect it was a warm night. Then she found herself the coziest saffronia she could and curled up. Three weeks ago she would not have been able to sleep. Now, though, she slipped into a comfortable position easily. A tree trunk wasn’t much different from an inn mattress. 

“So you’re pretty handy with that sword. Where’d you learn to fight?” 

The voice yanked her back to reality. “What the hell?”

Her gaze snapped over to the new speaker. Only then did she realize that someone had sat down beside her—less than a foot away. How had he managed to sneak up on her? Maybe her guard was lower than usual, but not  _ that  _ low. 

“Chillax! I’m just here to talk. And maybe help you get some coin, if you’re up for it.”

In the dim light, it was hard to get a look at her new, unexpected companion. But she was glad she did. This new fellow didn’t look much older than she—eighteen at the most. His eyes gleamed, a startling green color that made her wonder if he wore contact lenses. Surely humans didn’t have eyes like that naturally. His lips curled in a playful smirk. She found herself hoping that the expression wasn’t caused by something stupid that she’d done. 

And then there was something else about him. Something ethereal and whimsical that she couldn’t quite place. 

Curiosity tugged at her. Caution pulled back almost as intensely. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Xander. Former merc, but turned to a more profitable business venture.” He winked. “But who I am isn’t nearly as interesting of a story as who  _ you _ are. What’s your name, kid?”

“I’m not a kid.”

He grinned again. “Perhaps not, but you still have a name.”

“Je—Julie. I’m a nobody, really.”

“Seems kind of beneath a nobleman’s daughter to lie through her teeth like that,” Xander pointed out. “Don’t you think?”

The hairs on her neck stood up. A shiver ran down her spine. How’d he know? “I’m not—”

“Save it,  _ Julie.  _ You might fool the others, but I can see right through you.”

“How?”

“A lot of things, really. First, you have well-maintained hair. And it’s perfectly lovely, I might add. But most commoners only trim their hair once or twice a year, if that. Then there’s your posture. Even when you’re trying to sleep you don’t slouch. You’ve got calluses from swordplay, but judging by the way you’re limping slightly, you have a blister on your left foot. That tells me you’re not used to walking quite this much. And speaking of walking,” Xander continued, tapping her toes with his foot, “your shoes are another giveaway. Yeah, you’ve got the common clothes down. But you should have bought new boots, too. Because no commoner has custom-made, one-hundred-percent genuine Ardun leather boots for hiking.”

If Jewel hadn’t been slightly distracted by the compliment to her hair, she would have felt thoroughly disturbed. “Have you been stalking me or something?”

“I’m not done yet, either. Your swordplay—damn, it was impressive. For someone to be so good at your age can only mean one of two things. You could have been trained since birth as an assassin. But considering you were looking for mercenary work, I doubt that’s the case. Which means you have to be a noble’s kid. Only the nobility would have the time, means, and reason to train their kids in swordplay from birth. And judging by your skills, you were probably trained by the highest caliber tutors. So you must be nobility of some sort. Definitely not Gormotti or Urayan. Maybe Ardainian or Tantalese. It’s tough to say...Am I right? Or am I right?”

She frowned. “I thought you were here to help me find coin, not profile me.”

“I am right, then. Don’t worry, Jules. I won’t tell anyone you’re a noble. Who cares, anyway?”

The nickname made her shudder. It came too close to her real name. Did he know? Yes, he’d deduced her nobility. But that didn’t mean he nailed down which noble house she belonged to, did it? Maybe he had. Maybe he hadn’t. The only way to ensure he didn’t rush off to some Ardainian ambassador and rat her out—there was probably a reward out for her safe return—would be to tag along with him for a bit.

For some reason, that didn’t sound so unpleasant.

“So what’s this job you’ve got? Nothing illegal, I hope. If it is, get lost.”

“One of those justice types, eh? Relax. Of course it’s legal. Just recovering some lost property. My client had some...precious resources stolen. He’s willing to pay a lot for their safe return.”

“Then what do you need me for?”

“Because the thief knows how to fight. I normally go it alone, but I’d feel a lot safer with a capable fighter watching my back. Whaddya say? We’ll split the reward fifty-fifty.”

_ I don’t know...with Mom on my heels like this, it’s risky. Should I tell him?  _

No. If she told anyone that the Special Inquisitor of all people was trying to track her down, she’d blow her cover completely. It would be too easy to connect the dots. 

“I’m not so sure about this.”

“The client’s offering sixty thousand,” Xander added. 

Jewel had to bite her lip to keep herself from laughing. To him, sixty thousand probably seemed like a lucrative amount. And half of that would keep her from sleeping in the woods for weeks at a time. But to the royal household, sixty thousand was pocket change. She walked past that much money regularly. Even the core crystal she’d stolen from the castle vaults was worth more than that. She could probably sell her locket for twice that. Not that she wanted to sell it—it was the one photo she had left of her family. 

_ I hope Addam’s okay. _

There was that knot in her stomach again. She couldn’t afford to feel homesick now. And that sparkle in his eyes—every time she looked at them, the homesickness didn’t feel so prominent. 

“Fine. What’s the plan?”

Xander grinned and pulled a map from his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how many chapters this mini-fic will have, but it's already turning out longer than I originally expected. Oh well. Maybe we'll have 4-5 chapters or so.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did this chapter nearly double the word count for this fic? Yes, it did. Whoops. Ah, well. I'm enjoying this little original character story far more than I expected to.

“Mòrag, you simply must sleep.”

Brighid knew her Driver’s response before she even said it: “I  _ can’t.  _ We’ll lose her. _ ” _

The exchange had become such a routine part of their evening conversations that Brighid had long since dispensed with her “fatigue is a silent killer” warning. Mòrag no longer heeded it, insisting that she couldn’t rest. 

And somehow, Brighid knew it was true. In her current state, Mòrag would never manage to fall asleep, no matter how hard she tried. In the past week, her Driver had become a series of walking contradictions: exhausted dark circles under her eyes, but relentless, unfathomable energy to keep up the search with the sparsest hours of rest. Stubborn insistence (and hope) that they would find the princess safe and sound, and yet a growing despair that Jewel would always remain just outside her mother’s reach. Confidence that Jewel had the skills and intuition to stay safe abroad, but the never-ending worries stemming from both her maternal instincts and her own Special Inquisitorial brain. In her office, Mòrag witnessed the aftermath of hundreds, maybe thousands of cases regarding runaways, kidnapped children, or lone travelers attacked on the open road. And Brighid didn’t have to open their ether bond to know that Mòrag’s brain was rifling through each memory, trying—and failing—to prevent herself from imagining her own daughter in those violent scenarios. 

Brighid reached through the ether, latching onto that familiar part of Mòrag’s chest. Even after all these years together—decades, really—she found herself startled by the depth of emotions that could roll back through the affinity bond. Their ether connection was profoundly intimate. With just a touch of that golden cord, Brighid could touch at the very core of Mòrag’s very being. There were no secrets. The Special Inquisitor, who Mor Ardain still believed to be something of an enigma, was laid bare before her. Normally, Brighid boiled with pride that she alone had such familiarity with the woman’s innermost workings. Now, however, Brighid had to force herself not to recoil from the ether connection. Now Mòrag felt...battered, depressed, defeated. Her Driver had not felt so  _ anxious  _ since—

No. It did no good to think of such things. She ought to be wracking her own brain for some strategy to finally catch up to Jewel, not dwell on the worst memory she and Mòrag shared. Bad temper or not.

And Mòrag had every right to be poor-tempered at the moment. There was the obvious thing: Jewel was still on the run, and she’d chosen  _ Uraya  _ of all places to run amok. Yes, their countries were at peace now, but the war had only been sixteen years ago. Some of the older Urayans—the “patriots,” as they called themselves—might find the appearance of the Ardainian princess on Urayan soil all too tempting. And Jewel wasn’t the only thing Mòrag had to be upset about. She hadn’t seen her husband in over three weeks. She hadn’t spoken to him, either. And the same went for both Niall and Addam. 

_ Mòrag needs to see them, too.  _

Ironically enough, the Thunderbolt had a soothing effect on the Flamebringer. Even his ridiculous antics managed to ease her worries (a phenomenon which to that day baffled Brighid at times). Maybe if he were here, holding Mòrag in that tender way no one else could, she would calm down enough to sleep. But Mòrag would never be convinced to go back to Mor Ardain. And Zeke couldn’t exactly come here. 

“My finest room is available, ladies. You’re more than welcome to use it, even if it’s only for a couple of hours.”

The innkeeper’s voice wrenched Brighid out of her aimless thoughts. The poor man had been so flustered in the mere twenty minutes they’d been inside his establishment. Mòrag burst in and demanded her daughter’s whereabouts, only to discover that Jewel had misled them to Yurna. The Flamebringer, of course, proceeded to grill him for any rumors and tidbits of information. He had none. The only thing he could offer was a night’s bed and board, which Mòrag flatly declined. In the same moment, Brighid accepted it. 

Which left them here, one breath away from a flat-out argument in the lobby of a backwater inn. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Mòrag said again. And before Brighid could offer a counter argument, she turned on her heel and left. “Come, Brighid. Perhaps it’s time we consulted with some of our international resources.”

Resources: Mòrag’s thinly veiled code for Ardainian spies in Urayan territory. Even with Uraya and Mor Ardain on peaceful terms, they maintained operatives in the area. Doubtless Uraya did the same. And Ardainian loyalists could prove helpful in tracking down the princess. Naturally, talking with them entailed a trip to Fonsa Myma. So when they rediscovered Jewel’s trail—frighteningly faint, but just visible to a Keen Eye—along the way, Mòrag’s mood brightened a little. 

Brighid took the lead, tracing through the Urayan wilderness. The ether’s flow guided her, helping her eyes distinguish Jewel’s boots from the myriad of other footprints. Thankfully, the girl had stuck to the path. That comforted both women immensely; they vividly remembered the dozens of times they’d encountered bands of Igna warriors on the trek to Garfont from the port at Fonsa Myma. But a dead Volff on the side of the path made it clear that the journey was not without its dangers.

Mòrag prodded the beast with the tip of her whipsword, then examined the wound that killed it. “It’s a katana slice. Urayans don’t favor that weapon. No traces of ether damage, either. Jewel must have done this.”

Brighid nodded. “At least we know she’s fending for herself well enough. How long ago?”

Mòrag poked at the corpse again, trying to lift its leg. The limb stuck, completely rigid. “At least twelve hours. Probably no more than a day. Scavengers haven’t surrounded it yet.”

“That’s good, then. Our Yurna detour didn’t set us back too far. Shall we head for Fonsa Myma, then? I suspect she’s there. That’s the only place the trail could lead at this point. We could rent a room and finish the search in the morning.”

“We keep up the search. We were finally starting to gain on her.”

“Lady Mòrag, a few hours of sleep won’t set us back too far. Jewel has to sleep too, doesn’t she?”

Mòrag’s voice cracked. “She _ should _ be sleeping in her own bed. Not a rented one. I-I have to find her. No matter what it takes.”

“But you must rest! You’re so exhausted that you can barely see straight. How do you expect to find her in such a state?”

Mòrag whipped around to face her Blade. Fire burned in her eyes, sizzling in concert with the tears she barely managed to contain. “What would you do if it was me?” she demanded. “If I ran off on my own with barely a word’s explanation, what would you do?”

“You would never do something so foolish.”

“But if I did?”

Brighid’s gaze flinched. “I’d be doing the same thing you’re doing. I’d stop at nothing to see you safe and sound.”

There was no point arguing the thought further. Mòrag would go on until she collapsed or found her daughter—no sooner. And so they trudged onwards and upwards, finally reaching the capitol as dusk settled in. 

Brighid stopped short, lingering at the gates. She read the flow of the ether, then checked it again. Here, Jewel’s trail overlapped itself several times. It seemed to go inside the city, then back out. Then, near the tents bunched outside the city walls, there was a huge collection of her prints, like she’d circled the place with her feet. Some prints went deeper than others, as if she’d jumped or lunged in spots. 

“Brighid?”

The Blade simply nodded towards the mercenary band, which seemed to be winding down for the night. But that didn’t stop Mòrag from waltzing in as if she owned the group. She demanded to speak to the leader. Then came the script she’d repeated so many times: a description of the girl and a plea for any information on her whereabouts. 

Allain gave a knowing nod. “Yeah, girl like that was here yesterday. Didn’t catch her name, but she was looking for work. Awesome sword fighter, but I can’t take on someone so young. Told her to get lost, so she split.”

Brighid could feel Mòrag’s anger flare up all over again. She braced herself for her Driver’s outburst before it even happened.

“What the hell? You mean to tell me that an unaccompanied  _ minor  _ approached you for work and you didn’t report it to the proper authorities? What kind of negligent operation are you running here?” 

He crossed his arms. “Look, lady. I’m an independent firm with no ties to the Urayan unions. I’m under no legal obligations of that sort. I get to hire or fire who I want. And I didn’t know how old she was. Didn’t bother asking. Only thing I care about with my applicants is that they can fight. She could, but something about it didn’t sit right. So I told her to visit Garfont if she was really desperate for work.”

Mòrag’s fists clenched behind her back. “That’s no excuse! A leader should always know who’s fighting underneath them.”

“A lot of my folks come from rough backgrounds that they don’t like to talk about. So I don’t pry. They work, I pay them. No questions either way. It works out well enough.”

“Well you should learn to ask, you fool!”

Now the entire camp was staring, distracted from their meal by the Inquisitor’s outburst. Allain in particular gaped, his eyes widening in recognition. He glanced between Mòrag and her Blade and finally seemed to piece together their identities. 

“You’re the...She had your eyes,” he murmured. “Architect damn it, I should have known.”

“Exactly,” Mòrag hissed. “Do you have any idea what the legal ramifications could have been if you hired her and she was injured in your employ? International lawsuits with both Mor Ardain and Tantal. Reparations that would send you into bankruptcy for the rest of your life. An irreparable stain on your guild’s reputation, and—”

“Lady Mòrag!” Brighid interrupted. Her Driver needed to calm down. This outburst was very unlike her—another consequence of her exhaustion. But the last thing they needed was for the Urayan press to get word of the Special Inquisitor in a heated confrontation, even a justified one. And Mòrag was precariously close to the edge of her temper. “I think he understands his position, my lady.”

The Inquisitor’s mouth hung open for a moment, then shut. “M-my apologies.”

“I think I’m the one who should be apologizing. A thousand pardons, y-your grace,” Allain replied. He bobbed his head up and down penitently. On his large body, the gesture looked awkward and almost painful. “How can we make it up to you?”

“Do you have any idea where she went?”

“Not certain, but word on the street is that she teamed up with Xander. Good sellsword, that one. Good kid, too. Used to be one of my best. But he left to freelance. He still hangs around from time to time. Maybe he saw your lass’s skills and asked her to join him on his latest job.”

“And where would this job take him?”

“Not sure. Xander’s pretty private about his contracts. I do know who his client is, though.”

“And?”

“Duke Wulhan. Chat with him, and you can probably find out where the job was. Odds are she’s there.”

“...Thank you,” Mòrag said, her voice lined with forced courtesy. “Keep an eye out for her. Alert your men, too. If you manage to recover her, I’ll overlook your previous shortcomings and see that you’re rewarded for her safe return. An informal contract, if you will.”

Brighid understood Mòrag’s next command before she even voiced it: they’d consult the duke as a fallback and first try to follow Jewel’s trail. Better to intercept her before she got sucked into the perils of whatever the job entailed. Especially if she was accompanied by some unknown mercenary. 

She extended her consciousness through the ether, searching. This time, Brighid analyzed the freshest trail: Jewel’s footprints paired with a new companion’s. At first, the trail rushed along. But all at once, she felt the ether stagnate. The footprints faded, then vanished altogether, as if someone had taken a great eraser and purged every trace of Jewel from the soil. 

Brighid frowned and concentrated again. A trail couldn’t simply vanish—well, not without help. It took an extraordinary amount of ether to disrupt a trail to throw a pursuer off. Even more to completely eliminate it. She ought to be able to find it. But no matter how intently she focused, the tracks did not come back into view. Either Jewel had vanished off the face of the earth, or someone was manipulating the ether to make tracking impossible. 

“Lady Mòrag, I think we’d be well advised to visit this Duke Wulhan,” Brighid said at last. “We need to learn more about this Xander fellow.”

* * *

“I thought you said this was a legal job. So why are we perched in a tree like ansels?” 

Jewel glared at her new companion and wished that he had chosen a branch nearer to her so she could slug him. “A covert operation to recover some valuables,” indeed. So far all they’d done was trek several titanpeds outside Fonsa Myma and climbed a tree in a forest outside the targeted estate.

“We’re just waiting for the cover of darkness,” Xander replied. “It’ll make the job easier.”

“So we’re breaking in and stealing the goods, then.”

“Not exactly. We’re un-stealing something from the people who stole it first.”

“And what exactly are we ‘un-stealing?’”

“Damn, you ask a lot of questions. Why not bask in the thrill of the unknown for once?”

“You told me you wanted somebody to watch your back. How am I supposed to do that if you won’t give me a single hint as to what’s going on?”

“Look, somebody captured a friend of Duke Wulhan’s. Wulhan promised sixty thousand G to the first person who could bring them back to him. Naturally, a bunch of blokes have already tried to do the rescue. Everyone who’s entered the manor head-on ended up in a bad way. So I’ve been watching this place carefully. I know how to get in and out without getting spotted. But on the way out, I’ll have my hands full. It’s your job to back me up in case things go south.”

“Wait. I thought you said we were getting back ‘precious resources.’ You never said anything about rescuing people!”

“You’ll see what I mean, okay? Look, I get it. You’re an impatient person who likes to have all the answers right away. But life doesn’t work that way. Just trust me on this one.”

She bristled at the criticism to her patience. Somehow, despite her knowing him for nothing more than a few hours, Xander managed to put a finger on the one thing her parents constantly reminded her of:  _ be patient.  _ Was she really so easy to read? Or was he just really good at reading people?

“Fine.”

A stiff silence passed between them, interrupted only by the occasional chirrup of insects or of wildlife walking past. Jewel took the opportunity to study her new companion; maybe she could size him up as he’d done her. Her conclusion: he was unlike any of the Urayan mercenaries she’d encountered thus far. For one, he had no Blade. He wore two daggers—one on each hip. On his left hung a sheathed shortsword. The weapon puzzled her; his daggers appeared completely ordinary, as if he’d purchased them from the mass-produced offerings at the local blacksmith. But the sword...she could only see the hilt and sheath. Judging by the ornate curvatures of the metal on the pommel—almost as brilliant green as his eyes—the engravings, and the intricate leather binding of the handle, Xander’s shortsword was completely unique. She found herself wondering what it looked like out of its sheath. However, the wear patterns on the daggers’ cases showed that he clearly favored the shorter weapons. Not exactly the typical style for a mercenary.

But perhaps the agile style of the dual daggers fit his physique best, Jewel decided. After all, Xander could best be described as a slender man. Strong, sure, but she would not bet money on him in a contest of brute strength against Allain. Perhaps he favored a stealthy approach. It would explain their current mission. And his attire, too. Whereas most mercenaries wore thick, leather or plate armor, Xander wore grey clothes that clung close to his frame, matching each curve of muscle with laser precision, as if they’d been made for him alone. A few sections were reinforced with leather patches: his forearms, his chest, and his thighs. But even those sections seemed thin; not a single sound echoed from them when he moved. His attire—his entire person, really—was entirely noiseless. 

He almost seemed like an assassin or thief out of a storybook. The only aspect of his appearance that did not fit that impression was his skin. Regardless of where she looked, she could not find a single scar. That seemed odd. Every mercenary she’d met had a collection of old battle marks, testaments to their exploits. Somehow, Xander had none. Either he was very, very good at covert operations, or...no. The thought seemed ridiculous.

No matter what part of him she studied, however, her gaze always wandered back to his eyes: bold, entrancing. Rather beautiful. But beautiful in a way that both awed and scared her.

“Like what you see, Jules?”

His voice startled her. She looked away, hoping to hide the red rush filling her face. Of course he’d caught her staring. She’d never been much good with subtlety.

“Just, um, you know, admiring your sword,” she lied. 

Xander’s face twisted in an odd way, like a mixture of happy and sad memories welled up at the mere mention of the weapon. But the expression vanished quickly. His usual smirk replaced it. He tapped on the hilt. 

“My...brother gave it to me. I don’t use it much, but it reminds me of him, you know?”

“Where is he now?” 

“H-he died. Had a bad run-in with some Indoline puritans. Some of the old Amalthite order.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” she whispered awkwardly. Rumors of that order surfaced frequently back home: followers of the former Praetor, who were still dabbling in Amalthus’s less savory experiments. Mom called them something of a cult. They rarely popped up in Mor Ardain; apparently Uraya was another matter. And unfortunately, anyone who had the misfortune of encountering them or worse, confronting them directly, usually did not survive the ordeal. 

Xander shook his head. “He’s the reason I became a mercenary. So I could travel. I’ll find them someday. Make them pay for what they did.”

Jewel considered asking him about the rest of his family but decided against it. With her luck, she’d just dredge up more painful memories. 

“What about you, Jules? What’s your story?”

“Why do you wanna know?”

“Well, if someones gonna be protecting my arse, I’d like to know a little bit about them.”

“You seem to have already figured out a lot about me. Who do you think I am?”

“A runaway. But as for why you ran away, well,” he winked, “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

She hesitated. Could it really be so bad to tell him a little bit of who she was? It had been weeks since anyone had even really, truly  _ talked  _ to her. Back home, she would have little picnics with Addam—always on the roof of the palace, out of earshot and out of sight. There, they’d talk about their hopes and dreams, of the rulers they hoped to be someday. A knot formed in her gut. Now Addam would be the one ruling Mor Ardain someday, not she. Did that thought scare him or excite him? How had he reacted when she ran off? Was he okay? Worried? Come to think of it, she missed those little talks. Even for an eleven-year-old, he gave surprisingly good advice. What she’d give to hear his voice. And yet, if she went back…

She didn’t want to give herself away. But here was someone else, willing to listen. The words came pouring out of their own accord.

“I...back home, I was supposed to be somebody. Somebody important. But I screwed up. Who they want me to be, I can’t be that girl anymore. I’m not special.”

“Where’s home?”

“Mor Ardain.”

Xander gave a knowing nod. “Tough place to be a noble’s kid. They expect a lot out of you.”

Jewel fiddled with a piece of bark on the tree trunk. She pulled it off the trunk and tossed it into the leaves beyond. 

“Why the hell does it even matter if I can be a Driver or not? Who made up that stupid rule?” She hesitated. She’d already shared far more than she intended. If she kept running her mouth, she’d give herself away. “I-I always thought I was going to be a Driver. It was all I thought about. And now I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.”

“So you ran away from home to figure it out.”

“I guess.”

“Well then, maybe a little adventure is just what you need.” Xander smiled. “But Jules, don’t go around saying you’re not special just because you’re not a Driver. Because I get the feeling you are special, Blade or not.”

“Why do you say that?”

“No reason. Just a hunch.” He stretched and peered into the growing shadows around them. “Should be dark enough now. You ready?”

“Lead the way.”

He jumped from the tree, landing noiselessly on soft feet. Jewel descended—a little less gracefully—and followed after him. Xander still had an aura of mystery about him, and it still bewildered her how he managed to read her so easily. But maybe there was a thread of kindness mixed up in all the unknown. If nothing else, a little adventure without any Blades around could be a lot of fun.

They walked on in silence for a while. But to Jewel, it felt like an eternity. Maybe her nerves made time stand still? This was her first real mission, after all. She’d gone along with her mother and Brighid to observe a few expeditions here and there, but they weren’t exactly fun. She’d been kept out of the fray completely, sheltered in safety behind a Carraig guard while the Flamebringer made short work of those who opposed her. Watching was exhilarating, of course. But now she’d finally get to experience it for herself. 

“Okay, we’re almost to the perimeter of the state,” Xander whispered. “Once we’re in, follow my movements  _ exactly.  _ We’ll get through.”

Xander had said that he’d watched this place for weeks, and Jewel decided that was no exaggeration. He deftly avoided the sentries, dodging from one hiding place to the next as if this were nothing more than a game of hide-and-seek. Before she quite realized it, they had traversed the entire courtyard of the manor and climbed in through a window (which Xander picked the lock on easily). On more than one occasion, she felt certain they’d be discovered. As they rounded one corner, she could have sworn that a patrolling sentry looked them dead in the eyes. Xander yanked her back into a corner; when the sentry came to investigate without raising the alarm, he knocked the man unconscious.

Then he proceeded to move on as if nothing had ever happened. 

“H-how did—”

“Not now!” Xander hissed.

Sneaking in went smoothly...almost too smoothly. Sentries made convenient turns on their patrols, allowing them ample opportunity to knock them out. Others ran off to investigate mysterious noises despite there not being any clear source. Maybe it was just a stroke of uncanny luck? Regardless, they made it to the target location with minimal difficulty. 

Xander put an ear to the lock, jammed a pin inside it, and made uncannily quick work of the lock. She gave an impressed huff. Only one other person she knew could pick a lock that fast, and that was with the help of ether. 

“For someone who only works legal jobs, you’re very good at that,” she pointed out.

He simply winked and pushed open the door. Jewel flipped on the lights, expecting to see some sort of holding cell for the person they’d come to rescue. Instead, they stood in the middle of a treasure vault. Chests of coins, rare weapons, and even gems lined the shelves. But most noticeable of all was the glass case in the center of the room: a small collection of core crystals, all brilliant blue and ready to resonate. Jewel felt her stomach tie itself into a knot. She’d been lied to. 

Shouts echoed in the hall—not terribly close. But not terribly far, either.

_Damn it!_ _Xander conned me into helping him rob this guy blind! I can’t do this! If I get caught, Mor Ardain will get into huge trouble._

Her sword was out in an instant, positioned on his neck. She willed the weapon not to shake in her hands. Truthfully, she didn’t know if she could take Xander in a fight. But if she could simply hold him there long enough for the guards to arrive, she could explain her way out of an international scandal. 

“You’re not stealing anything tonight, you liar.” 

Her so-called companion raised his hands defensively. “Jules, this isn’t what you think, I swear.”

“You told me we were rescuing a person! This is the treasure vault! I can’t get caught stealing. Do you know how much that would ruin my life? How could you lie to me like that?”

“We’re not stealing. I promise. We are rescuing somebody.”

“Are you blind? No one’s here. Quit lying already.”

“Just let me explain!” 

The earnestness in his eyes—damn those stupid, gorgeous eyes—made her falter. 

“Thirty seconds. You better have an angelic explanation.”

“The core crystals,” he huffed. “They’re Duke Wulhan’s.” 

“You said we were rescuing a person!”

Xander stared at her as if she’d just actually stabbed him with the sword still at his throat. “Blades  _ are  _ people, Jules. I thought you of all people knew that. These crystals are people. And we’re rescuing them from a potentially very cruel Driver. One of them is Leif, Wulhan’s family Blade. The family’s legacy.”

Oh. Kind of like Brighid. That made more sense; if anyone had captured Pandoria’s, Brighid’s, or Aegaeon’s core crystals, she’d do anything to have them rescued. But was that the truth? She searched his expression; if he was lying, he was very,  _ very  _ good at hiding it. She lowered her sword. The shouts echoed again, much closer now. 

“Let’s get out of here, then.”

The air rang with the sound of shattering glass as Xander broke open the case and grabbed the crystals inside it. He glanced at the hall. Then he did something unexpected: he shoved the crystals into her hand and drew his knives. 

“Run, Jules. Go back the way we came. Get out of here.”

“But you—”

“I’ll be right behind you. These halls are too narrow to fight with your katana. I’ll hold them off. Run!”

She did as she was told, jamming the crystals into her pockets. Only three would fit, forcing her to clench the last one in her left fist. Thank the Architect she was wearing gloves, or else she’d risk that searing, razor-sharp pain all over again, and the blood would—

No, she could not think about that. Now was not the time! 

Running was one thing she’d always been good at. Weaving through the corridors and leaping over the unconscious forms of the sentries they’d neutralized proved easy. Before she realized it, she was back at the window they climbed in through. Their escape point. She pushed it open and slung one leg over the sill. Xander would meet up with her outside the manor, right? Of course he would. She had the crystals, after all. Without them, he couldn’t claim his reward. And something told him he could find her anywhere if he tried hard enough. She ought to just make a break for it. 

But she couldn’t bring herself to leave him behind, either. All of her anger for his misleading description of the mission vanished, and she peered back into the hallway. 

Xander was fighting brilliantly, darting about like a mad skeeter. His knives batted away weapons like toys—a marvel given how much smaller his blades were than the shortswords that hurtled at him. And the slices he made hit their marks with dizzying precision, slicing through tendons on the hand or ankle, throwing his opponents off balance. But when he toppled one opponent, another took his place. 

There were just too many of them. Without help, he’d be overwhelmed.

Something stuck in her gut at the thought of losing her new friend—was that even the right word for it? They’d just met. She hardly knew him. And he’d done nothing but confuse her. But still, she couldn’t stomach the thought of watching him die. These manor guards certainly didn’t look like they were fighting to disarm. They fought to kill.

Jewel withdrew from the window and sprinted towards him, sword in hand. She had to help. Even as her feet moved quicker, so did Xander’s weapons. Worse, so did his enemies’ swords. Then all at once, the motions seemed to slow. She saw the strike coming, helpless to do anything about it. 

A sword sliced into Xander’s torso and trailed across his stomach. Blood splattered, staining the carpet. Xander cried out. But somehow, he managed not to lose grip on his daggers. Not that he was in any condition to block further attacks now. 

There came another strike, plummeting towards his exposed neck. She willed her feet to move faster. On instinct, she jumped, sword extended.

_ Clang.  _

The very tip of her sword collided with the sentry’s and sent it careening off its mark. 

“Jules! I told you to run!”

“I’m not leaving you behind!”

If he made a counterargument, she didn’t hear it. She didn’t hear much of anything, actually. The only thing her brain seemed aware of was the dance of the swords in front of her. A feint, then a stab. A parry. Then withdrawing so another enemy could make an attack of his own. Instinct took over, and her sword seemed to join the dance of its own accord. Hasty, shaky strikes that nearly knocked the weapon from her shaking hands. Fighting Allain was one thing, but this? She’d never fought for her life before. And if she couldn’t get control of her movements—damn it, she was a better fighter than  _ this _ —they’d both end up dead.

_ Still your breath, and the body will follow.  _

Mom’s advice; of course it came to her now. Inhale, exhale. Coax oxygen into her shaking muscles. Another deep breath. Details became sharper, her grip on her sword surer. The quivers stopped. One slice, then another. Following Xander’s lead and cutting to injure, not kill. He managed a quick stab of his own here and there, helping her to cull through the remaining assailants. 

At last, the final sentry gripped at his wounded leg, trying and failing to give chase as they tore through the remainder of the hallway. He cursed loudly, screaming for reinforcements. Jewel shoved Xander through their escape window before jumping out herself. She slammed it shut behind her. 

“Run like hell. Don’t stop,” Xander huffed.

He didn’t have to tell her twice. Even if they got out of sight of the manor by the time additional guards arrived, they’d probably be pursued for a while. And so they ran as fast as their feet would carry them. How Xander managed it, Jewel didn’t know. After all, her lungs stabbed like a million tiny daggers with every breath. Her legs ached, too. And she wasn’t even injured. He was, and yet he kept pace with her. 

_ Thank the Architect for adrenaline.  _

Titanped after titanped swept past. Only when they were a titanped or two away from Fonsa Myma itself did they finally slow their pace. 

“Let me see your wound.”

First aid had never been her strong suit, but at least she could give him makeshift bandages and help staunch the bleeding. She put her fingers to the hem of her blouse and moved to tear it. It wasn’t exactly clean, but it would serve them well enough until they got paid. Then they could buy proper medicine and bandages. Or even a visit to a doctor, if the wound warranted it.

“What wound?” Xander asked stupidly. 

Her hands halted mid-tear. “Oi, don’t pretend to be strong with me! Idiot boys, always trying to act invincible. I’m talking about the wound on your stomach. Obviously. Now let me see it,” she insisted.

Xander pulled up the edge of his shirt, grinning. What Jewel saw there—besides surprisingly impressive muscle definition—made no sense. There was no wound, just a faint pink line, as if the sentry merely slapped him. She touched the pink skin; no, her eyes weren’t fooling her. She couldn’t feel a cut there, either. 

_ What the hell? _

“See? I’m fine,” he murmured.

“B-but I saw you get hit! There was blood and everything.”

“Jules, there was a lot of blood out there. You were caught up in the moment, and you  _ thought  _ you saw him cut me. But relax. I’m fine.”

“You cried out. I heard you yell,” she insisted. “You were in pain. So where’s the wound?”

“I yelled because he hit me hard with the flat of his sword. He flinched just before he struck because I was coming at him, too. I’ll probably have a nasty bruise tomorrow.”

He  _ flinched?  _ What self-respecting swordsman hit an opponent with the flat of a blade? The idea didn’t sit right with her brain. And yet, the proof was right in front of her: unbroken skin. No blood. 

“I could have sworn I saw—”

“This was your first real fight, right? Everything must have been a blur. That’s perfectly normal when your nerves are high. Your eyes must have fooled you.”

_ I wasn’t  _ **_that_ ** _ nervous, was I?  _

“Relax, Jules. I’m fine. No major injuries,” Xander reassured her. “Now, what do you say we go get our reward and then get a nice dinner to celebrate a job well done?”

She nodded, still baffled as to how her mind had played such an incredible trick on her. But at least Xander’s client was so eager to have his crystals back that they could claim the reward in the middle of the night; Xander explained as much, then went on to prattle about his favorite inn, which served patrons twenty-four-seven. Jewel couldn’t complain about that. A meal  _ did  _ sound good, as did a proper bed. 

They trudged through the commerce quarter and into the noble’s residences. The streets were eerily quiet; Jewel had always expected Fonsa Myma to be crawling with Urayan soldiers. But there were more mercenaries than enlisted fighters. It seemed so different from home. She half expected the soldiers they did encounter to salute her or even greet her; Ardainian ones always did. But no, here she was a nobody. Just a young woman traveling alongside her companion. And that was...kind of nice, actually. 

“Here we are,” Xander announced, turning the corner into a gated mansion. The guard recognized him and let them past without so much as an explanation. “It’s not the first job I’ve done for the Duke,” he added.

To that day, Uraya had one thing Mor Ardain lacked: historical, old buildings. After all, Uraya’s titan was intact when the continents merged with Elysium. That meant their structures remained unharmed. Mor Ardain, however, had crashed. As a result, the buildings back home were rarely more than twenty years old. Such a long time in Jewel’s mind, but her parents talked about it as if it happened yesterday. Her mom often spoke proudly of Mor Ardain as it had been all those years ago. Jewel had never quite understood that nostalgia.

Now, it made a bit more sense. Because the structure in front of her took her breath away. It was obviously old—maybe centuries old. She didn’t recognize a single architectural style, but she could understand why Duke Wulhan preserved this piece of Urayan history and chose it as his personal residence. The fountains, the water gardens, the impressive stone arches—each sight made her want to stop and stare for a while. Mor Ardain didn’t have the same rich blues and purples. Well, they had Brighid, but—

Jewel stopped short.

“What’s wrong?” Xander asked, far too loudly for her liking.

Her throat went dry. She blinked once, twice. Her eyes hadn’t played tricks on her. At the gate to the Duke’s house, not more than two hundred peds ahead of them, stood an all-too familiar figure. She’d recognize those tufts of blue flame anywhere. They glowed brilliantly in the darkness: Brighid. And in front of her, a navy silhouette with flickering swords on each hip.

_ Damn it. I don’t want to go home yet. _

“She’s still chasing me,” Jewel whispered.

“What?”

His voice still echoed far too loudly. They’d hear. They’d turn and look, and then it would all be over. Jewel grabbed his wrist and tugged on it.

“Xander, please. Let’s come back later for the reward. I can’t be here right now.”

“What? Why?”

“I, um. To be honest, someone’s after me. Them.”

He stared at her, puzzled. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“Well, not exactly, but—”

To her horror, Brighid turned around. For an agonizing second, Jewel wondered if the Blade would recognize her.

“Please, let’s go,” she hissed as loudly as she dared.

Then came the sound she dreaded most: “Lady Mòrag! There!”

“Run!”

Jewel didn’t wait to see if Xander would follow her. She spun on her heel and ran all over again. To her relief, Xander sprinted along beside her. He gestured for her to follow his lead; if anyone could navigate through the city better than the Inquisitor, it was him.

_ “Jewel!”  _

Mòrag’s voice. The mere sound of it nearly stopped Jewel in her tracks. The cry was full of a terrible mix of emotions: relief, pain, disbelief, love, and anger all at once. Mom had never sounded like  _ that  _ before.

_ I’m sorry, Mom,  _ she thought. And then she fled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have questions/suspicions about Xander, well. You're supposed to. No spoilers! ;)
> 
> I hope to add chapters to this every weekend, but we'll see if that works out. I'm dabbling in a lot of different projects at the moment, including a FE3H fic that I'm dreaming up. It's taking a lot of my daydreams right now! I will definitely finish this little adventure, though.
> 
> In other news, I got a Twitter (@PBnJeli_Writes), if you care for that sort of thing. Disclaimer: I mainly use it (poorly, I might add) to follow/like fanart (@SocNau, you're amazing, btw), but you're welcome to @ me with fanfic ideas/requests and random nonsense if that will brighten your day somehow. 
> 
> 'Til next time!


	4. Resonant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I finally start actually naming my chapter titles? Yes, I did. I'll go back and name the others here in a bit.

They ran for an impossibly long time. How Xander and she still had the energy to run, Jewel didn’t know. She ought to have collapsed a long time ago. They’d stayed up all night, then fought off dozens of guards. Then they sprinted back to Fonsa Myma. Now they were running all over again. Her legs screamed at the effort. She longed to stop. But oddly, as long as she held Xander’s hand—he practically dragged her through the streets—she somehow found the energy to move. Whenever her hand slipped out of his, a tidal wave of fatigue threatened to knock her flat. But it vanished as soon as her hand reentered his.

What a scene they must have caused, tearing through the streets with the Special Inquisitor of Mor Ardain on their heels.  _ That  _ probably wasn’t a sight Urayans saw every day. But somehow, the distance between them and their pursuers grew. Maybe Xander simply knew the city streets better than the Inquisitor. It certainly wasn’t for lack of speed on her part.

Not until they reached the very outskirts of town—by then out of Mòrag’s line of sight—did Xander duck inside a dingy-looking weapons shop. The shopkeep, who looked to be in the middle of opening his store, simply looked at Xander knowingly and nodded towards the back. Before Jewel quite knew what was happening, they slipped through a trapdoor and descended a ladder into a surprisingly warm, lightly furnished cellar.

“What is this place?” she asked, panting. Xander let go of her hand again and the fatigue came rushing back. What she would give to nap for two days straight.

“It’s a safehouse. A couple of my mercenary friends run it just in case we run into trouble. A Blade reinforced it, so it’s difficult to track people here. We’ll stay long enough for things to die down a bit. They shouldn’t find us here.”

Part of her didn’t want to believe that something as simplistic as a safehouse would deter her mother. But her legs were  _ so  _ tired. And the little sofa, while old, looked incredibly comfortable. Sitting still for just a short while couldn’t hurt, could it?

Xander sat down beside her. “Now, care to explain why we just walked away from sixty thousand back there?”

She bit her lip. “I-I—” her voice faltered. Where could she even begin?

“I’m not a fool, you know. I know who those women were. That was Lady Mòrag, Mor Ardain’s Special Inquisitor. And Lady Brighid, the Firewalker. Why are those two after you?”

She hesitated. He recognized them after all. There was no avoiding an explanation now. “Um, you know how when we first met, you pegged me for a noble’s kid? Well, you were right. Spot on, actually.”

“She called you  _ Jewel,  _ not Julie. Which must mean you’re the—”

“Flamebringer’s daughter.” Jewel couldn’t meet his gaze; suddenly it felt very wrong to have misled him. 

“Architect, you’re the  _ Imperial princess.  _ I took the heir to Mor Ardain’s throne into a den of thieves,” he murmured. “Your mom’s going to kill me.”

The understatement of the century, really. If for some reason her mother got the mistaken impression that Xander had kidnapped her or coerced her into helping him, “Flamebringer” would be putting it mildly. Xander would pretty much melt on the spot if she got a hold of him. And given how they just fled from her, with Xander pulling her all the way, Mòrag probably didn’t have the greatest first impression of her new friend.

“She can’t kill you if she doesn’t find me with you. I-I’ll go. Then she’ll leave you alone. You can, ah, keep the reward. I’ll make ends meet some other way.”

Jewel rose to leave, but Xander yanked on her arm and pulled her back down. “Like hell you’re leaving. I promised you half the reward, and that’s how this is gonna work.”

“I  _ can’t  _ stay here, Xander. Now Mom knows I’m in Uraya. She will literally overturn every single stone in the country to find me. She’ll find me here. So I either have to go home with her or go to another country. And I have to go now.”

“Fine. I’ll come with you.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. I can’t ask you to uproot your whole life.”

“You can’t uproot something that doesn’t have roots.” Xander grinned. “I’ve always been a drifter. Sure, I’ve been in Uraya for a bit. But I can get jobs anywhere. And I daresay we make a pretty good team. A change of scenery might be nice.”

“Why on Elysium would you do that? We just met yesterday.”

“Because you’re kinda fun to be around. And because you’re never going to successfully hide from  _ the  _ Mòrag Ladair by yourself. So I’ll help you. With my skills, you might just stand a chance at getting away. But I have one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Explain to me why you ran away in the first place, and why you don’t want to go back. Give me the whole story. Honestly.”

She hesitated. What happened—in the weeks since she left Hardhaigh, she hadn’t even thought much about it. She intentionally busied herself with the stress of simply surviving so she wouldn’t have to think about it. Even now, when she glanced at the little stash of core crystals they rescued, her palm seemed to sweat a little. Could she really talk about it? And to a stranger, no less? Yes, he knew her real identity now, but she didn’t want to break into tears. Not in front of him. And yet, his company had been nice. Maybe staying on the run would prove easier with his help. Telling him the story seemed a small price to pay in exchange for his companionship going forward.

She leaned back against the thin cushions of the sofa and hugged her knees into her chest. “I...All my life, I’ve always wanted to be a Driver. My parents had this rule that—”

“If the Inquisitor’s your mom, then Ozychlyrus Brounev Tantal’s your father, right?”

“Ozy-what now?”

“Zeke von Genbu.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s my dad.” Jewel lost her train of thought at the mention of her father’s legal name. It sounded suspiciously like her grandpa had sneezed at the alphabet and used the scrambled letters as the name for his firstborn son. Regardless, she heard the full name so rarely that she usually didn’t recognize it. “What about him?”

“Nothing. Go on.”

“My parents set this rule that I couldn’t be a Driver until I turned sixteen. I didn’t want to wait that long. So since I was ten, I’ve been trying to sneak a core crystal to resonate with.”

“Since you were ten? Did you have any idea how dangerous it can be? People  _ die  _ doing stuff like that.”

“I was arrogant. I thought I could handle it,” Jewel whispered back, wishing he would stop interrupting. Getting through the tale itself was hard enough. “I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t take the core crystal’s power. The Blade inside rejected me. Which means Brighid and Aegaeon will reject me, too. They’re even more powerful than the crystal I tried. So I can’t be Empress. That’s why I left. Because I failed the Empire, and they’re probably better off waiting for my brother to rule instead of me.”

Xander paused, considering. “Maybe that’s true, but I don’t think that’s the reason you left.”

“What would you know?”

He ignored the question. “Why’d you really leave, Jewel?”

“I...I can’t bear to stay. There’s Blades  _ everywhere  _ at home _.  _ Yeah, Pandoria, Aegaeon, Brighid, and Wulfric are the ones everybody knows about. But there’s dozens more. My Uncle Niall’s a Driver, too. I’m surrounded by Blades, and every time I see one, I’m just reminded that I wasn’t good enough. I-I couldn’t bear to live surrounded by a bunch of living, breathing reminders that I’m the screw-up of the family.”

“I highly doubt your family thinks you’re a failure.”

“Well, of course they’d never say it out loud. But they’re probably really disappointed in me.”

“Sure. The Special Inquisitor is just chasing you all over creation to tell you that she’s disappointed in you. No other motivations at all.”

Even if she hadn’t heard thirty-thousand of Nia’s sarcastic clips in her lifetime, Jewel still would have recognized the irony dripping in his voice. He had a point, of course, but still. His ability to cut to the quick of the matter was getting annoying. How did he keep putting his finger directly on her weak spots?

She blinked hard, hoping to dispel the tears threatening to surface. Here she was, running from two of the people who loved her most. All because she felt...Ugh. Even formulating the thought ached.

“So you think I should go home, then? But you don’t get it. My parents helped save Alrest. They’re two of the best Drivers in all of Elysium. How the hell am I supposed to live up to that?”

“Who says you have to? Be  _ you,  _ Jewel.”

She looked at him for the first time in several minutes, expecting to see a condescending look on his face. Maybe he intended to scold her and tell her to go back home. Or to grow up a bit. But when her eyes met his, all she saw was an earnest expression of sympathy. Somehow that made her want to cry even more than a lecture would have. 

“What if I don’t know who I’m supposed to be? I always thought I was going to be a Driver. And now that’s gone.”

“You don’t know that for sure. And anyway,  _ why  _ did you even want to be a Driver in the first place?”

She bit her lip. She couldn’t even bring herself to say it out loud to someone else. Yes, there were a lot of reasons she wanted to be a Driver. Having a built-in best friend seemed like a nice perk (Mom and Brighid and Dad and Pandoria were practically joined at the hip). And the ruler of Mor Ardain had to be a Driver. Those were the obvious things. Under the surface, she hoped a Blade might help her somehow measure up to her family. But deep down, the reason she wanted it lacked any lustrous, noble, or honorable motivations. 

At its core, her reason was petty. Plain and simple. 

“I-it seemed cool, I guess.”

Her cheeks turned red as soon as she said it aloud. Architect, what a stupid, selfish, immature motivation. Too bad she was only just now figuring that out. Xander looked at her and shook his head. Something about his expression in that moment made him seem a lot older, as if he had decade after decade of wisdom about the topic. 

_ Great. Now he thinks I’m a lame, selfish child. _

“That’s why you failed, Jewel,” he began quietly. “You lost sight of what Drivers and Blades are supposed to be in the first place. A Driver-Blade relationship...it’s not a relationship of two flawless people. It was never meant to be. Both Drivers and Blades are pretty flawed. But that’s okay. When the two resonate for the first time, they’re committing to a mutually beneficial partnership. The Driver helps the Blade grow, and the Blade does the same for the Driver. If they’re both committed to growing together, the resonance works. They help each other improve their flaws. But if the Driver isn’t willing to open herself up to growth and change, well. That’s a toxic relationship. And no Blade is going to accept that. Not even common ones.” 

“So you’re saying Blades reject Drivers because they won’t help them grow?”

“Look at it this way. You’re going to have to marry somebody someday, right?”

She hoped her scowl wasn’t too obvious. That wasn’t a duty she anticipated fulfilling anytime soon. “Yeah, I suppose.”

“Well, when you’re trying to find that special someone, who are you going to pick? Someone who admits when he’s wrong and tries to improve his own shortcomings? Or someone who sees his flaws and mistakes and refuses to try to correct them?”

“Someone who’s trying to better himself,” she answered simply.

“Blades do the same thing. They won’t bond with someone who would hold them back.”

_ Have  _ **_I_ ** _ been refusing to own up to my own mistakes? Am I someone who neglects her own flaws? _

The answer she discovered made her squirm. What a lousy Empress she’d make with that sort of attitude.

“I’ve never heard resonance explained that way. My tutors always said it was something about ether circulation and tolerance within the body,” she said, hoping to steer the conversation onto a less touchy subject. 

“Resonance is a mysterious thing. No one knows for sure exactly how it works. All we have are theories. That’s mine.”

“...Well if your theory is right, then I have a lot of growing up to do,” she murmured, only half intending for him to hear. “Anyway, have I spilled enough of my guts to satisfy you? Can I go now?”

“Soon,” Xander answered. “And as promised, I’ll come with you. But first, let me go get the reward money. That way we can buy the supplies we need.”

“My mom will be watching that house. She’ll find you if you go back to the mansion.”

He winked. “No, she won’t. And anyway, relax. I’ve got an old pal who owes me a favor. He can be my middleman. I won’t even have to go near the place.”

“Okay. I’ll come with you just in case we have to make a run for it.”

“No. You stay here and wait for me. I promise she won’t find you if you don’t leave this spot.”

“But Brighid can—”

“Relax. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve that’ll keep her at bay for long enough. Just trust me, okay?”

Jewel decided not to think about what the “tricks up his sleeve” could possibly mean. Hopefully nothing too drastic. “Fine. Hurry back.” 

As soon as he was gone, locking the trapdoor behind him, she collapsed onto the couch for a much-needed nap.

* * *

Mòrag found herself stuck inside a tangle of emotions as she and Brighid trudged back to Wulhan’s manor—this time intent on getting more information about Jewel’s new companion. They’d been in the middle of requesting an audience with the Urayan duke when Brighid turned around and spotted the runaway princess.

It was a grand chase and a large contributor to Mòrag’s current conflicting emotions. On one hand, she almost felt relieved that Jewel had a companion. At least she wouldn’t fall prey to the local wildlife as easily with someone watching her back. And what a capable companion he was. Mòrag almost admired how adeptly he sprinted through the residential quarter, weaving in and out of buildings in such a complicated yet streamlined pattern that he’d been difficult to follow. And if the Urayan nobility was employing him for large-reward contracts, then his combat skills had to be something to behold.

But there were too many unknowns for her to feel at ease about her daughter’s new friend, too. Most notable among them was the fact that he didn’t leave a trail. Brighid tried over and over again to track him and failed more often than not. Jewel’s footprints seemed far fainter when she was with him, too. And, of course, they knew nothing of the boy’s motives. If he had any unsavory intentions...Jewel was too naive to really sort through them herself.

In the time they spent chasing Jewel across Fonsa Myma, someone had roused Duke Wulhan; when they arrived back at his manor, they were immediately escorted into his parlor, offered some Hearty Kordeth Puran and coffee, and invited to ask as many questions as they wished.

“My steward tells me you have questions about one of my contractors,” the Urayan duke began. “Which one?”

“He’s a young man with short black hair and green eyes. Tall slight build. Very quick and agile. Knows the city well,” Mòrag recited. “We believe his name is Xander. Apparently he used to work with Allain’s mercenaries.”

“Ah, yes. Xander,” Wulhan began, taking a long sip of his coffee. “One of my best resources. I was actually glad when he chose to leave Allain and work independently. It suits his...unique talents better.”

“Then he’s an employee of yours?” Brighid asked.

“Not exactly. He’s brought in on a case-by-case basis. What do you want to know about him?”

Mòrag frowned. “Everything.”

“Might I inquire as to why? It’s quite unexpected that the Special Inquisitor of Mor Ardain would be looking for him. Unless you intend to acquire his services?”

“My...my daughter ran away from home. She’s with him. These services of his—what are they, exactly?”

Duke Wulhan set his coffee down and folded his hands. “I suppose you could say he’s a core crystal bounty hunter. As I’m sure you’re aware, with Indol removed from power, we’re seeing a drastic reduction in resonance success rates. Cleansed core crystal prices are at an all-time premium. In some cases, they’re even more valuable than the legacy crystals of noble families. With Amalthus gone, soon there won’t be any cleansed crystals left. People are panicking. Core thefts for both cleansed and raw crystals have skyrocketed. Thieves kidnap unresonated Blades and sell them at scalped prices on the black market.”

Mòrag nodded. The core crystal crisis was brewing, to be sure. Their economists predicted it as soon as the Praetor fell. Only now had they finally begun to feel the deeper repercussions of his death. In Mor Ardain, core crystal thefts did not pose as much of a problem; the military’s strict regulation and ownership of the majority of the crystals in the country deterred most thieves. Sure, they encountered an isolated incident here and there, but not to the same level as Uraya. It made sense, really; with Uraya’s economy thoroughly entrenched in the mercenary lifestyle, strict regulation of crystals simply wouldn’t work. And without strict regulation, thieves had greater opportunities to pilfer their goods.

“Many nobles, myself included, post rewards for the safe return of stolen Blades. Bounty hunters like Xander track down the lost crystals and return them. For a very lucrative fee in most cases.”

_ At least he’s not an assassin, _ Mòrag thought to herself. Not that a bounty hunter was much better. Of all the people for Jewel to fall in with. The occupation itself was dangerous. And given recent events, Jewel probably didn’t like the sight of core crystals.

“While I don’t know for sure, I suspect Xander was returning here with the stolen crystals to collect his reward. If he returns and the princess is with him, I will see to it that she’s brought home.”

Mòrag and Brighid nodded in unison, merely out of politeness. His promise of aid would probably prove as fruitless as Allain’s. But the thought counted for something.

“What else can you tell us about Xander? Anything?”

Wulhan hesitated, taking a large bite of Puran and chewing pensively.

Brighid spoke up. “Please tell us what you know,” she urged. “I myself have noticed something odd about his presence. I imagine your Blades have sensed it as well. His aura...it’s unlike anything I’ve sensed before. It doesn’t feel like that of a human, Blade, Flesh Eater, or Blade Eater. I’m baffled by it. If being with this Xander fellow could endanger the princess in any way, you must tell us what you know.”

Mòrag shot her Blade a questioning glance. Brighid had never mentioned anything about the boy’s presence. But her own Driver instincts had noticed it, too. In the short time they chased him, they both noticed something...off. There was no better way to describe it. But theorizing the nature of that anomaly could come at another time. For now, they had to chase what information they could.

“Xander is a good kid. One of the few bounty hunters I know who actually regards Blades as people, not capital resources. He takes these jobs to rescue them. The money is an afterthought, not his primary motivation. But as for his background...well, I only know rumors. And it’s not a pleasant story.”

“Let’s hear it, then,” Mòrag said, accepting a refill of coffee to wash down her food. 

“As the story goes, his family were refugees at Indol…”

* * *

From the moment Xander returned with their reward money for the recovered core crystals, life became something of a blur. But it was a pleasant blur.

There were the simple things, of course. A new pair of traveling boots to complete her mercenary disguise. Her own pair of daggers (which Xander taught her how to use when they had a moment to spare). Dozens of makeshift yet delicious meals roasted from what they could scavenge on the open road, or homely stews at local inns. New locales she’d only ever read about—quaint villages on the outskirts of Gormott and Uraya, and the sunny beach resorts at Leftheria. Even the nomads they encountered on the open plains. And throughout each journey, the tales Xander shared about his own adventures. 

They were the simplest pleasures of life, and Jewel enjoyed experiencing them like never before.

More importantly, she enjoyed working with Xander. Her mind reeled when she tried to wrap her mind around how he found so many opportunities to recover lost or stolen core crystals. Much of the work was simply pounding the pavement until they had enough information to get the crystal back. Then came the physical exertion of fighting the thieves responsible. That proved incredibly draining. But it was good, honest work. And the overjoyed expressions on the faces of people when they returned the crystals...that made Jewel’s heart swell with pride. Living at the palace in Mor Ardain hadn’t afforded her many opportunities to directly impact people’s lives. Growing up she hoped that someday, as Empress, she’d be able to make a difference. But it had always seemed decades away. Now, however, she could help day in, day out. Yes, they weren’t Ardainians. But it still felt good.

After his initial lecture about her attitudes towards Blades—if it could even really be called a lecture—Xander’s demeanor towards her was different. It was softer, somehow. And yet she could tell he respected her, too. He listened to and considered her opinions whenever they planned their newest jobs. He depended on her in fights, and she depended on him. He’d predicted they would make a good team, and he was right. While they both wielded weapons for close combat, the extra reach of her katana complimented his swift daggers perfectly. And as the weeks dragged on, they learned to read each other’s movements. Before long, they were weaving around each other, stabbing and parrying in perfect sync.

Days turned into weeks. Jewel lost track of how long she’d been away. Either Mòrag and Brighid had given up on chasing them, or they’d finally managed to put enough distance between them that the trail had gone cold. As much as she loved the opportunity to travel, deep down she missed home, too. Little things reminded her of her family: giddy boys playing in the market together looked like Addam. The lead actor at a theatre troupe did funny little dances that reminded her of her father. Hearth fires always seemed to look blue when she first glanced at them. And she frequently had to do a double-take whenever she saw a woman dressed in navy clothes. 

_ Maybe I’ll go back in time for my birthday.  _

She could stay a little longer, though. After all, tonight, they’d stopped at one of the nicer inns in Gormott (far from where Aunt Nia lived, to her relief). It was cozy. The place had the best food in town. And they’d found a nice corner table tucked away from the main hustle and bustle. 

The only downside? The core crystal sitting in the center of their table.

Jewel usually didn’t mind looking at them anymore. After all, most of the crystals she saw these days belonged to other people. She had nothing to fear from crystals she would never resonate with. But this one had been given to them by their latest client. A reward of sorts—nothing more than a common Blade, but given the current economy, it was still valuable. 

“You should take it,” Jewel volunteered. “You’ve been talking about buying a pair of knuckle claws anyway. And you’re better at the close-quarters fighting than I am.”

“You’d be good with them, too. You’ve got better fighting instincts than anyone I know.”

“You know I can’t,” she replied glumly, resting her chin against the table.

“You...you know you can try to resonate again, right?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You only get one shot at it.”

Xander shook his head. “That’s an urban legend, actually. Because for most people, it’s true. They’ll only ever get their hands on one crystal in their entire lifetimes. So if they fail that, they won’t ever be a Driver. But every Blade is different. Just because one Blade rejected you doesn’t mean they all will. And you’ve grown up since your first try, right?”

“What good would it do me? Mor Ardain’s Empress is supposed to be capable of resonating with Brighid and Aegaeon. If I couldn’t resonate with one of the lowest tier Blades in the royal vaults, then there’s no chance I’d be good enough to resonate with either of them. And a common Blade won’t cut it for the Empress. Let’s just sell it.”

“We could always sell it if it doesn’t work out.”

“I’m—I’m not sure I want to resonate anymore.”

“Why not?”

“No reason.”

“Ardunshit.”

“Fine. I’m scared to fail again,” she admitted.

“So what if you do? It’s not like you have anything to lose at this point.”

“You know who I really am. When I mess something up, the whole world finds out and makes a news story out of it. I dunno if I want to keep dealing with that.”

“You’re such a good fighter, though. And it’s a really special bond. You’d be missing out,” he whispered, a feeble smile on his face. His breath felt warm against her chin. She couldn’t recall when he’d gotten so close. But for some reason, the proximity didn’t bother her. His lips looked...kind of nice, actually. 

_ Wait. What the hell am I thinking?  _

“How would you know?” she asked, trying to look at his nose, the freckle on his cheek, his eyes—anything but his lips. It didn’t work.

He smirked. “No reason.” 

“A-and anyway, if I stay here, why would I need a Blade? I have you. We manage just fine on our own.”

When the phrase  _ I have you  _ crossed her lips, the smirk on Xander’s face softened into a genuine smile. Then his hand slipped up to her chin, both strong and gentle. It took her a moment to sort through the haze and realize exactly what he was doing. A lot of thoughts flooded her brain all at once. He was just some wanderer she’d met outside a mercenary camp a few weeks ago—were things supposed to happen this fast? What if she was only entertaining the idea because she was feeling a little homesick? And there was always the possibility that someone would recognize her here. The press would have a field day if she was caught like this. Not to mention the feeling of being verbally burned alive when her mom scolded her over it. Brighid might be even worse. 

_ I’m an Ardainian princess. I’m supposed to act like one.  _

But the smell of his breath—honey, cinnamon, and cardamom from the Cinnopon Roll he’d eaten, she realized—shook her resolve. And the way his tongue flicked across his lips...his warmth pulled her in. 

_ Damn the stupid throne. It’s just a kiss.  _

She had, however, her father’s tendency to ramble when she got nervous. And “nervous” wasn’t a fitting description for the rush that spilled over her. What if she messed this up? What if she did something stupid? What if he was just teasing her? Worse, he might realize that she was a bad kisser—Architect, she’d only ever kissed her parents and Addam, and even that was on the cheek or head. Then he might decide she wasn’t worth his trouble. That anxiety stuck in her chest. Talking was the only thing that relieved it.

“I just—maybe being a Driver is overrated, you know? Maybe I only ever wanted it because it was what was expected of me. I could find a new hobby. Like cooking. Or hunting. Or making perfumes. Or—” She was making such a fool of herself. “Architect, please just shut me up.”

He obliged.

How long his lips pressed against hers, she didn’t know. Her brain was too overwhelmed by the new sensations all over her body. Her spine tingled. Sweat broke out on her palms and fingers, which had somehow gotten entangled in his collar. Her heart raced so wildly that she wondered if he could feel it pounding through the hand clasping her neck. And everywhere a twisting, soothing, aching warmth.

But all those sensations were quickly dwarfed by the clenched feeling in her chest. It felt as if one of her father’s lightning bolts had latched onto her heart, sending electricity rocketing through every cell in her body. It burned but didn’t hurt. If anything, it drew her closer. She deepened the kiss, emboldened by that rush of energy. When he finally pulled away, she couldn’t help a little huff of exhilaration. That warmth had been exhilarating. She wanted more of it.

...And then she realized that the electric heat in her chest remained, still burning and crackling. Instinctively, she looked down, half expecting to see herself on fire from embarrassment at never having done this before. Instead, she saw something quite different: a golden thread, tracing a glowing line from her chest to his. 

“W-what’s that?” 

The thread vanished as quickly as it appeared. He pulled away. His face looked as though he’d just been slapped. 

“N-nothing. I, um. Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

He stood. His urgency knocked over his chair as he rushed out of the dining area towards his room. 

“Xander, come back! Xander!”

That thread—she’d seen it hundreds, maybe thousands of times. A near-instantaneous affinity link was just one of the Flamebringer’s many claims to fame. Ever since she was a little girl, she loved to watch the blue, thin thread grow in brilliance until it was a thick golden cord of power and adrenaline. Given recent events, however, she’d given up on seeing one extend towards her body. 

But for one to be running between herself and Xander…

She sprung into action and followed him down the hall. Xander certainly boasted more strength, but she was a bit faster and more agile. She easily dodged the inn’s other visitors. By the time he reached his door, she was just a ped or two behind. He lunged into the room, moving to slam the door behind him. Jewel flung her foot forward.

They both cursed in near unison—he for failing to escape and she for the pain that shot up her foot when she wedged it into the door. 

“Xander, what was that?” 

She could see his face through the small gap in the door, but he refused to meet her gaze. He didn’t respond, either. A little stab of pain grabbed at her heart. She cared about him. Yes, it was a new, infant sort of care that she herself didn’t quite know what to do with yet, but she was certain that it was genuine. And judging by that golden thread, wasn’t it safe to say he cared a little, too? Why wouldn’t he talk to her about it? Even just a little explanation would help.

Oh. Maybe this was how her parents felt whenever she shut them out.

“You bloody idiot! You can’t just kiss a girl and run away. Please. Talk to me.”

He finally relented, allowing her to slip inside the room. He shut the door behind her and then stepped several feet away, as if he feared that close proximity might ignite the thread all over again. 

“What was that?” She asked quietly. Not that she didn’t have her suspicions. “A-are you a...a Flesh Eater?”

He shook his head. 

“A Blade Eater, then.”

His eyes wouldn’t meet hers. “Not exactly. I guess you could say I’m both at once.”

Jewel tried and failed to keep her face impassive. She scowled, confused. Hopefully the expression wouldn’t deter him from talking further. What did he mean by both at once? How exactly did that work? She longed to say something, anything that would help fill the silence. But nothing seemed adequate. Instead she stood and waited for him to proceed.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally began a long-winded explanation.

“I...I  _ was  _ a wind Blade once. Stealth was my specialty. I can scatter ether trails, make noises to distract guards, muffle footsteps by manipulating the air. It’s how we’ve been avoiding your mom all this time. Anyway, my Driver—he was the brother I told you about. He was born to a family of refugees. After the World Tree’s War and Indol’s collapse, most of the refugees found new places to live. But not Crwys. His family wasn’t so lucky. You see, when Praetor Amalthus fell, some of his radical followers decided they would continue his legacy. Keep doing his filthy experiments with humans and Blades. So they went underground and took as many refugees as they could, holding them prisoner in caves throughout Elysium. Crwys was forced to resonate with me there.

“I don’t know how he survived as long as he did. The Indoline...they were testing the limits of just how long Blade Eaters and Flesh Eaters could survive with damage to their bodies and cores. I-I’ll never forget the screams, the blood, the fire. Once they’d done enough of that, they started working on their real goal: to create a new kind of Eater. 

“There were so many failures. Crwys and I were the only ones who survived the procedures. They...they put some of his flesh in me while he was still alive. And they cut out part of my core and put it inside his heart. After that, we had some nicer days. We got to live and train together. Since we were the only ones to survive, they let us live almost normally for a while. I figure we were too valuable to kill since they needed to study us.

“But it was too good to last. They hadn’t finished their experiment yet. Crwys saw it coming. He tried to fight them off, to stop them from drugging us and taking us back to the lab. He failed. Then I woke up with—” Xander’s voice faltered. “With his heart in my chest.”

As he spoke, Xander fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. The fabric fell open to reveal a bitter tapestry of proof for his story. In the center of his chest lay his halved core crystal; what had once gleamed bright green now shone with red and blue rivulets of twisted energy, the colors as bold as a painted pebble. Directly beneath that ran a harsh, rope-like scar the size of his fist. Jewel didn’t need to be told that Xander now had both halves of his core crystal again. But one half clung to a man’s heart underneath that scar.

The story made Jewel want to cry or march off and track down the Indoline responsible. What right did they have to do such awful things? But she took a deep breath, fought back her tears, and buried her temper. Xander hadn’t finished talking.

“...Everything was a bit of a blur after that. I don’t know how, but I escaped. I think I went on some sort of rampage. Once I finally got a hold of myself and shook off the Indoline chasing me, I started to make a little life for myself with mercenary bands. We did a core crystal rescue job, and I knew I had to help. It’s why I became a core bounty hunter, actually. A lot of those stolen Blades end up getting sold to people like  _ them.  _ The more I can rescue, the better.”

“So then you’re…” Jewel’s voice trailed off. What could she possibly say?

“One of the cursed ones. Twice cursed, really.”

“...Why didn’t you tell me?”

Xander hung his head all over again. “I-I was selfish. I knew who you were the second I saw you. But I felt something for you then, too. And I know how Mor Ardain treats the cursed ones. My kind, they used to turn us over to Indol all the time. I thought that if you knew what I was, you’d reject me. And I didn’t know why I felt so drawn to you—Architect, you’re like this force I can’t quite resist—but I knew I wanted to be with you for a while. So I didn’t tell you.” 

Sadness gleamed in his eyes. Jewel felt her spine prickle at the mention of Mor Ardain’s history. Under her grandfather’s rule, a lot of Eaters had endured cruel treatment—nothing like the Amalthus’s followers, but still wrong. Uncle Niall had since instituted dozens of reforms on that front, especially after a Blade Eater became a member of his royal family. Such behavior merited criminal punishment now. But old hates died hard. 

“My family isn’t like that,” she insisted, taking a step closer. To her relief, he didn’t step back further. “My dad’s a Blade Eater. One of my aunts is a Flesh Eater. My mom even thought about taking in part of her Blade’s core crystal. It’s not as taboo as it used to be. I certainly don’t give a damn about it.”

Xander paused, considering. His shoulders seemed to relax a bit. “You know, you have a lot of aunts.” 

She laughed. It was a half-hearted sound, very foreign in the wake of his story. “You have no idea. It was usually annoying, but it did get me a lot of birthday presents.”

He gave a wry smile. That made Jewel feel a little better. 

“Look, Xander. I don’t care about your past. You’re not cursed. I’m not going to reject you for what you are.”

He nodded, but a tense silence passed between them. Jewel hated moments of forced quiet like this. She rarely experienced them; usually they only occurred when Brighid was in charge of lecturing her for something. Brighid would glare at her for minutes at a time, formulating her criticism in complete silence only to burst out in a flurry of verbal lashes. Jewel shuddered at the thought of it. Nothing was more terrifying than Brighid when angry, not even her mom. If not for the fact that Brighid was secretly the most doting member of her family—always in private, not even in front of her own Driver—Jewel might have been scared of her namesake. 

_ Architect, if I ever see Brighid again, she’s going to kill me. Then hug me. Then kill me again. _

Jewel shook off the memories of home and searched for a new topic of conversation. None of them seemed appropriate themes after the darkness of his own tale, but...she had to say something. Something happy. Anything to make him feel better. 

“So, um. Well, why did you kiss me back there?”

Xander’s face turned as pink as his crystal. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have. I got carried away. It’s just that you’re really cute when you let yourself be a little vulnerable.”

“I-I don’t mind.” She stepped a bit closer, wondering if her face was as bright as his. “I kind of liked it, actually.”

His lips curled into a hesitant smile, but he shook his head. “It can’t happen again, though. It shouldn’t. You’re a princess. You can’t be with somebody—with someone like me.”

“Says who?”

“Well, everyone. They’ll want you to be with some other noble’s kid. You’re supposed to rule Mor Ardain. I’d just hold you back from who you’re supposed to be.” The beginnings of tears lingered in his eyes.

“If you ask me, the queen of all people should be able to pick who she’s with. Don’t you agree?”

The rational side of her told her that she shouldn’t be saying such audacious things—not when she was only just now beginning to entertain these feelings to begin with. But she couldn’t help it. All she wanted was for him to feel better, to know that who and what he was made no difference to her. And deep down, she realized that all along, she’d wondered if people only ever liked her because of her station. Xander, however, had befriended her as Jules, not Jewel. That counted for something, right?

Before she could think better of it, she pulled herself in to kiss him again. This time, the rush felt different—still exhilarating, but it lacked the richness of the affinity connection. She wondered if he intentionally withheld it. But it didn’t matter, either. Simply being near him was enough. After she withdrew, he stared at her, as if blinking might make their present reality disappear. Then he hugged her tightly.

“You could never hold me back, Xander. If anything, you’ve made me a better person.”

The only response she heard was a small sniffle. 

“It’s getting late,” she pointed out after another long pause. He nodded and released her.

“Um...w-would you like to stay here with me tonight?” he asked, his voice hesitant.

_ That  _ suggestion turned her face crimson. Surely it was too soon for such a thing. “I-I’m not sure I, well, I mean, I’ve never—”

It was his turn to blush all over again. “No, no, no! I didn’t mean it like  _ that. _ I just...I’d like the company. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Something about the way he said it made her chest ache. How lonely it must have been, fleeing Indoline radicals by himself. And the more she thought about it, the nicer company sounded to her, too. What harm could it do? 

“Okay,” she whispered. “But make sure you lock the door. If someone from home saw me…”

He gave a knowing nod and did as she asked. Then he pulled off his boots and finished removing his shirt. Jewel couldn’t decide if she was grateful that he didn’t strip down further or not. Since when did she even entertain such thoughts? She removed her own shoes and jacket, glad that her clothes were comfortable. In her own room, she’d change completely, but for now, this would do. She couldn’t bring herself to shed more than that. 

He laid down, scooting against the wall to allow her enough space to join him. She hesitated. It was a small bed, and if Mom and Brighid somehow managed to track her down  _ tonight  _ of all nights...But his arms looked so inviting. She slipped underneath the covers beside him. Then she surprised herself and slipped an arm around his waist. His stomach twitched where she first touched, but he didn’t pull away. He gave the tiniest smile instead.

These feelings—they were sudden and strong, but they felt right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An unusual amount of notes here because I wanted to explain a couple things. First, yes. This is a rapid-fire romance. It’s a touch more forced than I’d like, but well. I want to keep this novella length or shorter. And if I really dragged out the crushing between the two, we’d have a flat-out novel. Plus, Jewel’s a bit naive. She hasn’t really had a crush on anybody before, and she’s probably reacting a little too drastically. But hey. It’s fair to be foolishly overwhelmed by the crushies. Many of us have been there. And Xander really, really needed a hug anyway.
> 
> Speaking of Xander! His explanation about why Jewel failed resonance: I’m not saying that’s my definitive theory of how resonance works. In-game, we’re never really told how it works. No one seems to know for sure. Even Azurda describes it as a pretty mysterious process. As a result, I think the people of Alrest would probably have a bunch of different theories as to how resonance actually works and why some would-be Drivers get rejected. Xander idealizes/romanticizes it a bit, but I can see Blades themselves having theories, too. Not just Drivers.
> 
> As for his identity. I’ll admit I had some fun and took some liberties designing his character. In-game, we have both Blade Eaters and Flesh Eaters. And naturally, my messed-up brain went, “Hey. What if somebody was both?” Maybe it’s a bit of a stretch, but with as nasty of a character as Amalthus was, I can see his surviving loyalists trying to escalate and improve upon his experiments. We’re never explicitly told how much flesh a Blade has to “eat” from their Driver to become a flesh eater. Yes, most flesh eaters in-game have dead Drivers. But then there’s Minoth. We’re not told if his flesh donation was from Amalthus directly or from some unfortunate soul. Either way, we know it’s possible in-game for a Flesh Eater to still have a living Driver. And canonically, we know that Drivers can consume all or part of a Blade’s core. Mush the two practices together, and you have the mess that is Xander and his now-dead Driver (who he called his brother). 
> 
> Yes, I’m probably stretching and twisting the game’s lore some. If that bothers you, sorry. I’m thoroughly enjoying my artistic license (it is an AU, after all). 
> 
> Last but not least, can you imagine trying to live up to people’s expectations with two of the strongest Drivers in the world and two saviors of humanity as your parents? Poor Jewel. No wonder she’s struggling to find her place in the world.
> 
> WOW. This was a massive note. Anyway, I’m not sure how quickly I’ll have the next chapter out. Hopefully within 1-2 weeks? I’m up to my ears in different projects. Currently I have three WIPs. I *ought* to focus on the last bit of this one so I can knock it out and have more time for the others. But does that always happen? Nope. Not by a long shot. I’m dabbling in all of them. 
> 
> P.S. Jewel is invincible to “Your Mom” jokes because, well, Mòrag can’t really be insulted. Totally random aside. XD

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't actually think Morag and Zeke's kids wouldn't have potential; it seems kinda unlikely. But someone posed the idea to me, and I couldn't get it out of my head. So here we are! 
> 
> Next chapter will introduce a new original character--Jewel could use a friend right now. And we all know her family isn't going to let her just disappear. Should be fun.


End file.
